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FREDERICK- SCHILLER. 



HISTORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 



HISTORY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS, 

CONTINUED — TRIALS OF COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 

WALLENSTEIN AND WILHELM TELL, 

HISTORICAL DRAMAS. 



TRANSLA TED FROM THE GERMAN. 



LONDON: 
BELL & DALDY, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 

1872. 



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LONDON : PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
AND CHARING CROSS. 



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PEEFAC £. 



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On presenting this second Volume of his edition of Schiller's 
Works, the Publisher thinks it necessary to say a few words 
respecting the various translations comprised in it. 

The Histoey of the Revolt of the Netheklands, the 
first portion of which appeared in the former volume, was 
translated by Lieut. E. B. Eastwick, and originally published 
abroad for the use of students. But this translation, though 
excellent, was too strictly literal for general reading, and has, 
therefore, been carefully revised, and some portions entirely 
re-written, by the Rev. A. J. W. Morrison. 

The Camp of Wallenstein is translated by the late Mr 
James Churchill, and first appeared in that able miscellany, 
"Frafc ;r's Magazine;" the proprietor of which, Mr. G. W. 
Nickisson, has kindly permitted its republication here. It is 
an exceedingly happy transfusion of what has always been 
deen. d the most untranslatable of Schiller's Works. 

The Piccolomini and Death of Wallenstein, which 
form the second and third parts of this great Dramatic 
trilogy, are the admirable version of Mr. Coleridge, com 
pleted by the addition of all those passages which he had 
omitted, and by a restoration of Schiller's own arrangement 
of the Acts and Scenes It is said, in defence of the 
variations which exist between the German original and the 
version given by Mr. Coleridge, that he translated from a 
prompter's copy in manuscript, before the Drama had been 
printed, and that Schiller himself subsequently altered it, 
omitting some passages, adding others, and even engrafting 
several of Mr. Coleridge's adaptations. However this may 
be, the Publisher considers it advisable to give every line of 
Coleridge's version, without the least alteration, ("especially 
as it contains more than one fine passage not to be found in the 
printed editions of Schiller,) and to add, in brackets, all those 
portions (upwards of 250 lines) which have heretofore been 
omitted. These are chiefly translated by G. F Richardson, 
Esq., the translator of the poems of Korner. They will be 
found at pages 188, 189, 195, 215, 216, 219, 221, 231, 236 
245, 297, 300, 305, 323, 324, 325, 387, 389, and 416. 



IV PREFACE. 

Wilhelm Tell is translated by Theodore Martin, Esq., 
who is favourably known to the readers of Blackwood's Ma- 
gazine, by his various contributions illustrative of Schiller 
and other German poets. 

It was intended to include Don Caklos in the present 
volume, but the extent of that Drama rendered it imprac 
ticable, and Tell has been substituted. Don Carlos, there 
fore, will form the commencement of the next volume. 

The Publisher, somewhat in the position of an Editor, 
has taken considerable pains in superintending this edition 
of Schiller through the press ; but does not pretend to any 
merit on the score of its literary execution. At the same 
time, he feels himself responsible for its faults, and in a 
future edition, will gladly correct any which may be pointed 
out. 



York Street, November, 1846. 



H. G. B 



CONTENTS. 

HISTOKY OF THE REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS: 

CONCLUSION. 



The Iconoclasts. — Civil War. — Resignation of William of Orange. — Decay 
and Dispersion of the Grueusen League. — Alva's Armament and Expedition to 
the Netherlands. — Alva's First Measures, and Departure of the Duchess of 
Parma. — Page 1 to 87. 

Trial and Execution of Counts Egmont and Horn. — Page 88 to 95. 
Siege of Antwerp by the Prince of Parma. — Page 95 to 135. 



HISTORICAL DRAMAS. 

WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP ; by James Churchill— Page 141 to 176. 
THE PICCOLOMINI ; by S. T. Coleridge {with Additions).— -Page 177 

to 286. 
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN ; by S. T. Coleridge {with Add* 

tions).— Page 287 to 448. 
WILHELM TELL ; by Theodore Martin.— Page 449 to 553. 

%* An Alphabetical Index will be Aiven in a future Volume, 



THE 



HISTOKY OF THE REVOLT 




UNITED NETHERLANDS. 



BOOK IV 



THE ICONOCLASTS 



The springs of this extraordinary occurrence are plainly not 
to be sought for so far back as many historians affect to trace 
them. It is certainly possible, and very probable that the 
French Protestants did industriously exert themselves to 
raise in the Netherlands a nursery for their religion, and to 
prevent, by all means in their power, an amicable adjustment 
of differences between their brethren in the faith in that 
quarter and the King of Spain, in order to give that implacable 
joe of their party enough to do in his own country. It is 
natural, therefore, to suppose that their agents in the pro- 
vinces left nothing undone to encourage their oppressed 
brethren with daring hopes, to nourish their animosity against 
the ruling church, and by exaggerating the oppression under 
which they sighed, to hurry them imperceptibly into illegal 
courses. It is possible, too, that there were many among the 
confederates who thought to help out their own lost cause by 
increasing the number of their partners in guilt ; who thought 
they could not otherwise maintain the legal character of their 
league, unless the unfortunate results, against which they had 
earned the king, really came to pass ; and who hoped in the 
general guilt of all to conceal their own individual criminality. 



2 HISTORY OF THE 

It is, however, incredible that the outbreak of the Iconoclasts 
was the fruit of ^ deliberate plan, preconcerted, as it is 
alleged, at the convent of St. Truyen. It does not seem 
likely, that in a solemn assembly of so many nobles and war- 
riors, of whom the greater part were the adherents of popery, 
an individual should be found insane enough to propose 
an act of positive infamy, which did not so much injure any 
religious party in particular, as rather tread under foot all 
respect for religion in general, and even all morality too, and 
which could have been conceived only in the mind of the vilest 
reprobate. Besides, this outrage was too sudden in its out- 
break, too vehement in its execution altogether, too monstrous 
to have been any thing more than the offspring of the mo- 
ment in which it saw the light, it seemed to flow so naturally 
from the circumstances which preceded it, that it does not re 
quire to be traced far back to remount to its origin. 

A rude mob, consisting of the very dregs of the populace, 
rendered brutal by harsh treatment, by sanguinaiy decrees 
which dogged them in every tow T n, scared from place to place, 
and driven almost to despair, were compelled to worship their 
God, and to hide, like a work of darkness, the universal sacred 
privilege of humanity. Before their eyes proudly rose the tem- 
ples of the dominant church, in which their haughty brethren in- 
dulged in ease their magnificent devotion, while they themselves 
were driven from the walls, expelled, too, by the weaker number 
perhaps, and forced, here in the wild woods, under the burning 
heat of noon, in disgraceful secrecy to worship the same God — 
cast out from civil society into a state of nature, and reminded, 
in one dread moment, of the rights of that state ! The greater 
their superiority of numbers, the more unnatural did their lot 
appear — with wonder they perceive the truth. The free heaven, 
the arms lying ready, the frenzy in their brains and fury in their 
hearts combine to aid the suggestions of some preaching 
fanatic ; the occasion calls, no premeditation is necessary, 
where all eyes at once declare consent; the resolution is 
formed ere yet the word is scarcely uttered ; ready for any un- 
lawful act, no one yet clearly knows what, the furious band 
rushes onwards. The smiling prosperity of the hostile reli- 
gion insults the poverty of their own ; the pomp of the au- 
thorized temples casts contempt on their proscribed belief ' 



REVOLT OF THE NETHEELANDS. 8 

every cross set up upon the highway, every image of the saints 
that they meet, is a trophy erected over their humiliation, and 
they all must be removed by their avenging hands. Fana- 
ticism suggests these detestable proceedings, bat base passions 
carry them into execution, 

1566. The commencement of the attack on images took 
place in West Flanders and Artois, in the districts between 
Lys and the sea. A frantic herd of artisans, boatmen, and 
peasants, mixed with prostitutes, beggars, vagabonds, and 
thieves, about 300 in number, furnished with clubs, axes, 
hammers, ladders, and cords, (a few only were provided with 
swords or fire-arms,) cast themselves, with fanatical fury, into 
the villages and hamlets near St. Omer, and breaking open 
the gates of such churches and cloisters as they find locked, 
overthrow everywhere the altars, break to pieces the images 
of the saints, and trample them under foot. With their ex- 
itement increased by its indulgence, and reinforced by new 
^mers, they press on, by the direct road, to Ypres, where 
they can count on the support of a strong body of Calvinists, 
Unopposed, they break into the cathedral, and mounting on 
ladders, they hammer to pieces the pictures, hew down with 
axes the pulpits and pews, despoil the altars of their orna- 
ments, and steal the holy vessels. This example was quickly 
followed in Menin, Comines, Verrich, Lille, and Oudenard ; 
in a few days, the same fury spreads through the whole of 
Flanders. At the very time, when the first tidings of this 
occurrence arrived, Antwerp was swarming with a crowd of 
houseless people, which the feast of the Assumption of the 
Virgin had brought together in that city. Even the presence 
of the Prince of Orange was hardly sufficient to restrain the 
licentious mob, who burned to imitate the doings of their bre 
thren in St. Omer ; but an order from the court, which sum- 
moned him to Brussels, where the regent was just assembling 
ner Council of State, in order to lay before them the royal let- 
ters, ubliged him to abandon Antwerp to the outrages of this 
band. His departure was the signal for tumult. Apprehensive 
of tLe lawless violence, of which, on the very first day of the fes 
tival, the mob had given indications in derisory allusions 
the priests, after carrying about thu image of tnn Virgin 
for a short time, bro jght it for safety tc >he choir, witnout, as 

Bo 



4 HISTORY OF THE 

formerly, setting it up in the middle of the church. This 
incited some mischievous boys from among the people, to 
pay it a visit there, and jokingly inquire, why she had so 
soon absented herself from among them ? Others mounting 
the pulpit mimicked the preacher, and challenged the Papists 
to a dispute. A Roman Catholic waterman, indignant at this 
jest, attempted to pull them down, and blows were exchanged 
in the preacher's seat. Similar scenes occurred on the follow- 
ing evening. The numbers increased, and many came already 
provided with suspicious implements and secret weapons. At 
last it came into the head of one of them to cry, " Long live 
the Gueux ! " immediately the whole band took up the cry, 
and the image of the Virgin was called upon to do the same. 
The few Roman Catholics who were present, and who had 
given up the hope of effecting anything against these despera- 
does, left the church, after locking all the doors except one. So 
soon as they found themselves alone, it was proposed to sing one 
of the psalms in the new version, which was prohibited by the 
government. While they were yet singing, they all, as at a 
given signal, rushed furiously upon the image of the Virgin, 
piercing it with swords and daggers, and striking off its head ; 
thieves and prostitutes tore the great wax-lights from the al- 
tar, and lighted them to the work. The beautiful organ of the 
church, a masterpiece of the art of that period, was broken to 
pieces, ail the paintings were effaced, the statues smashed to 
atoms. A crucifix, the size of life, which was set up between 
the two thieves opposite the high altar, an ancient and highly 
valued piece of workmanship, was pulled to the ground with 
cords, and cut to pieces with axes, while the two malefactors 
at its side were respectfully spared. The holy wafers were 
strewed on the ground and trodden under foot ; in the wine 
used for the Lord's Supper, which was accidentally found there, 
the health of the Gueux was drunk ; while with the holy oil 
they rubbed their shoes. The very tombs were opened, and 
the half- decayed corpses torn up and trampled on. All this 
was done with as much wonderful regularity, as if each had 
previously had his part assigned to him; every one worked 
into his neighbour's hands ; no one, dangerous as the work 
was, met with injury ; in the midst of thick darkness, which 
the tapers only served to render more sensible, with heavy 
masses falling on all sides, and though on the very topmost 



BE VOLT OF THE NETHERIANDS. 5 

steps of the ladders, they scuffled with each other for the hu 
nours of demolition — yet no one suffered the least injury. In 
spite of the many tapers which lighted them below in their 
villanous work, not a single individual was recognised. With 
incredible rapidity was the dark deed accomplished ; a num 
ber of men, at most a hundred, despoiled in a few hours a 
temple of seventy altars — after St. Peter's at Eome, perhaps, 
the largest and most magnificent in Christendom. 

The devastation of the cathedral did not content them . 
with torches and tapers purloined from it, they set out at 
midnight to perform a similar work of havoc on the remain 
ing churches, cloisters, and chapels. The destructive hordes 
increased with every fresh exploit of infamy, and thieves were 
allured by the opportunity. They carried away whatever 
they found of value, the consecrated vessels, altar-cloths, mo- 
ney, and vestments ; in the cellars of the cloisters they drank 
to intoxication; to escape greater indignities, the monks and 
nuns abandoned every thing to them. The confused noises 
of these riotous acts had startled the citizens from their first 
sleep ; but night made the danger appear more alarming than 
; t really was, and instead of hastening to defend their churches, 
the citizens fortified themselves in their houses, and in terror 
and anxiety awaited the dawn of morning. The rising sun at 
length revealed the devastation which had been going on dur- 
ing the night ; but the havoc did not terminate with the dark- 
ness. Some churches and cloisters still remained uninjured ; 
the same fate soon overtook them also. The work of destruc- 
tion lasted three whole days. Alarmed at last, lest the frantio 
mob, when it could no longer find anything sacred to destroy, 
should make a similar attack on lay property, and plunder 
their warehouses ; and encouraged, too, by discovering how 
small was the number of the depredators, the wealthier citi- 
zens ventured to show themselves in arms at the doors of 
their houses. All the gates of the town were locked but one, 
through which the Iconoclasts brake forth to renew the same 
atrocities in the rural districts. On one occasion only, during 
all this time, did the municipal officers venture to exert their 
authority ; so strongly were they held in awe by the superior 
power of the Calvinists, by whom, as it was believed, this mob 
of miscreants was hired. The injury inflicted by this work of 
devastation was incalculable. In the church of the Virgin, it 



Oi H1ST0EY OF THE 

was estimated at not less than 400,000 gold florins. Many 
precious works of art were destroyed ; many valuable manu- 
scripts ; many monuments of importance to history and to di- 
plomacy were thereby lost. The city magistrate ordered the 
plundered articles to be restored on pain of death ; in enforc- 
ing this restitution, he was effectually assisted by the preachers 
of the Reformers, who blushed for their followers. Much 
was in this manner recovered, and the ringleaders of the mob, 
less animated, perhaps, by the desire of plunder, than by 
fanaticism and revenge, or perhaps being ruled by some 
unseen head, resolved, for the future, to guard against these 
excesses, and to make their attacks in regular bands and 
in better order. 

The town of Ghent, meanwhile, trembled for a like destiny. 
Immediately on the first news of the outbreak of the Icono- 
clasts in Antwerp, the magistrate of the latter town, with 
the most eminent citizens, had bound themselves to repel 
by force the church-spoilers ; when this oath was proposed to 
the commonalty also, the voices were divided, and many de- 
clared openly, that they were by no means disposed to hinder 
so devout a work. In this state of affairs, the Roman Catholic 
clergy found it advisable to deposit in the citadel the most 
precious moveables of their churches, and private families 
were permitted, in like manner, to provide for the safety of 
offerings which had been made by their ancestors. Mean- 
while, all the services were discontinued, the courts of justice 
were closed; and like a town in momentary danger of being 
stormed by the enemy, men trembled in expectation of what 
was to come. At last, an insane band of rioters ventured 
to send delegates to the governor, with this impudent mes- 
sage : " They were ordered," they said, " by their chiefs, 
to take the images out of the churches, as had been done in 
the other towns. If they were not opposed, it should be done 
quietly, and with as little injury as possible, but otherwise 
they would storm the churches;" nay, they went so far in 
their audacity, as to ask the aid of the officers of justice there* 
in. At first, the magistrate was astounded at this demand ; 
upon reflection, however, and in the hope that the presence 
of the officers of law would perhaps restrain their excesses, be 
did not scruple to grant their request. 

In Tournay, the churches were despoiled of their ornaments 



REVOLT OB THE NETHERLANDS. 7 

within sight of the garrison, who could not be induced to 
march against the Iconoclasts. As the latter had been told 
that the gold and silver vessels, and other ornaments of 
the church, were buried underground, they turned up the 
whole floor, and exposed, among others, the body of the 
Duke Adolph of Gueldres, who fell in battle at the head 
of the rebellious burghers of Ghent, and had been buried 
here in Tournay. This Adolph had waged war against his 
father, and had dragged the vanquished old man some miles 
barefoot to prison — an indignity which Charles the Bold 
afterwards retaliated on him. And now, again, after more than 
half a century, fate avenged a crime against nature by another 
against religion ; fanaticism was to desecrate that which was 
holy, in order to expose once more to execration the bones of 
a parricide. Other Iconoclasts from Valenciennes united 
themselves with those of Tournay, to despoil all the cloisters 
of the surrounding district, during which a valuable library, 
the accumulation of centuries, was destroyed by fire The 
evil soon penetrated into Brabant, also Malines, Herzogen- 
busch, Breda, and Bergen-op-Zoom experienced the same fate. 
The provinces Namur and Luxemburg, with a part of Artois 
and of Hainault, had alone the good fortune to escape the con- 
tagion of these outrages. In the short period of four or five 
days, 400 cloisters were plundered in Brabant and Flanders 
alone. The northern Netherlands were soon seized with the 
same mania which had raged so violently through the south- 
ern. The Dutch towns, Amsterdam, Leyden, and Graven- 
haag, had the alternative of either voluntarily stripping their 
churches of their ornaments, or of seeing them violently torn 
from them ; the determination of their magistrates saved 
Delft, Haarlem, Gouda, and Rotterdam from the devastation. 
The same acts of violence were practised also in the islands of 
Zealand ; the town of Utrecht, and many places in Overyssei 
and Groningen suffered the same storms. Friesland was pro- 
tected by the Count of Aremberg, and Gueldres by the Count 
of Megen from a like fate. 

An exaggerated report of these disturbances which came in 
from the provinces, spread the alarm to Brussels, where the 
regent had just made preparations for an extraordinary session 
of the Council of State. Swarms of Iconoclasts already pene« 
trated into Brabant; and the metropolis, where they were cer 



8 HISTOET OF THE 

tain of powerful support, was threatened by them with a renewal 
of the same atrocities then under the very eyes of majesty. 
The regent, in fear for her personal safety, which even in the 
heart of the country, surrounded by provincial governors and 
knights of the Fleece, she fancied insecure, was already medi- 
tating a flight to Mons, in Hainault, which town the Duke of 
Arschot held for her as a place of refuge, that she might not be 
driven to any undignified concession by falling into the power 
of the Iconoclasts. In vain did the knights pledge life and 
blood for her safety, and urgently beseech her not to expose 
them to disgrace by so dishonourable a flight, as though they 
were wanting in courage or zeal to protect their princess ; to 
no purpose did the town of Brussels itself supplicate her not to 
abandon them in this extremity, and vainly did the Council of 
State make the most impressive representations that so pusilla- 
nimous a step would not fail to encourage still more the inso- 
lence of the rebels; she remained immoveable in this desperate 
condition. As messenger after messenger arrived to warn her 
that the Iconoclasts were advancing against the metropolis, she 
issued orders to hold every thing in readiness for her flight, 
which was to take place quietly with the first approach of 
morning. At break of day, the aged Viglius presented him- 
self before her, whom, with the view of gratifying the nobles, 
she had been long accustomed to neglect. He demanded to 
know the meaning of the preparations he observed, upon which 
she at last confessed, that she intended to make her escape, 
and assured him that he would himself do well to secure his 
own safety by accompanying her. " It is now two yeai's," said 
the old man to her, "that you might have anticipated these 
results. Because I have spoken more freely than your cour- 
tiers, you have closed your princely ear to me, which has 
been open only to pernicious suggestions." The regent al- 
lowed tfyat she had been in fault, and had been blinded by an 
appearance of probity ; but that she w T as now driven by neces 
sity. " Are you resolved," answered Yiglius, " resolutely to 
insist upon obedience to the royal commands?" " I am." 
answered the duchess. " Then have recourse to the great 
secret of the art of government, to dissimulation, and pre- 
tend to join the princes until, with their assistance, you have 
repelled this storm. Show them a confidence, which you are far 
from feeling in your heart. Make them take an oath to you. 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 9 

that they will make common cause in resisting these disorders. 
Trust those, as your friends, who show themselves willing to 
do it ; . but be careful to avoid frightening away the others by 
contemptuous treatment?." Viglius kept the regent engaged in 
conversation until the princes arrived, who he was quite certain 
would in nowise consent to her flight. When they appeared, he 
quietly withdrew, in order to issue commands to the town council 
to close the gates of the city, and prohibit egress to every one 
connected with the court. This last measure effected more 
than all the representations had done. The regent, who saw 
herself a prisoner in her own capital, now yielded to the 
persuasions of the nobles, who pledged themselves to stand 
by her to the last drop of blood. She made Count Mans- 
feld commandant of the town, who hastily increased the 
garrison, and armed her whole court. 

The State Council was now held, who finally came to a reso- 
lution, that it was expedient to yield to the emergency; to 
permit the preachings in those places where they had already 
commenced ; to make known the abolition of the Papal Inqui- 
sition ; to declare the old edicts against the heretics repealed, 
and before all things, to grant the required indemnity to the 
confederate nobles without limitation or condition. At the 
same time the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont and Horn, 
with some others were appointed to confer on this head with 
the deputies of the league. Solemnly and in the most unequi- 
vocal terms, the members of the league were declared free from 
all responsibility, by reason of the petition which had been pre- 
sented, and all royal officers and authorities were enjoined to 
act in conformity with this assurance, and neither now, nor for 
the future, to inflict any injury upon any of the confederates 
on account of the said petition. In return, the confederates 
bound themselves to be true and loyal servants of his majesty, 
to contribute to the utmost of their power to the re-establish- 
ment of order and the punishment of the Iconoclasts, to 
prevail on the people to lay down their arms, and to afford 
active assistance to the king against internal and foreign 
enemies. Securities, formally drawn up and subscribed by 
the plenipotentiaries of both sides, were exchanged between 
them ; the letter of indemnity, in particular, was signed by 
the duchess with her own hand, and attested by her seal 
It was only after a severe struggle, and with tears in he* 



10 HISTORY OF THE 

eyes, that the regent, as she tremblingly confessed to tha 
king, was at last induced to consent to this painful step. She 
threw the whole blame upon the nobles, who had kept her a 
prisoner in Brussels and compelled her to it by force. Above 
all, she complained bitterly of the Prince of Orange. 

This business accomplished, all the governors hastened to 
their provinces; Egmont to Flanders, Orange to Antwerp. In 
the latter city the Protestants had seized the despoiled and 
plundered churches, and, as if by the rights of war, had taken 
possession of them. The prince restored them to their lawful 
owners, gave orders for their repair, and re-established in 
them the Roman Catholic form of worship. Three of the 
Iconoclasts, who had been convicted, paid the penalty of 
their sacrilege on the gallows ; some of the rioters were ban- 
ished, and many others underwent punishment. Afterwards 
he assembled four deputies of each dialect, or nations, as 
they were termed, and agreed with them, that as the 
approaching winter made preaching in the open air im- 
possible, three places within the town should be granted 
them, where they might either erect new churches, or convert 
private houses to that purpose That they should there 
perform their service every Sunday and holiday, and always 
at the same hour, but on no other days. If, however, no 
holiday happened in the week, Wednesday should be kept by 
them instead. No religious party should maintain more than 
two clergymen, and these must be native Netherlanders, or 
at least have received naturalization from some considerable 
town of the provinces. All should take an oath to submit 
in civil matters to the municipal authorities and the Prince 
of Orange. They should be liable, like the other citizens, to 
all imposts. No one should attend sermons armed ; a sword, 
however, should be allowed to each. No preacher should 
assail the ruling religion from the pulpit, nor enter upon 
controverted points, beyond what the doctrine itself rendered 
unavoidable, or what might refer to morals. No psalm 
should be sung by them out of their appointed district. At 
the election of their preachers, churchwardens and deacons, 
as also at all their other consistorial meetings, a person from 
the government should on each occasion be present, to report 
their proceedings to the prince and the magistrate. As to 
all other points, they should enjoy the same protection as the 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. li 

riling religion. This arrangement was to hold good until 
the king, with consent of the states, should determine other 
wise ; but then it should he free to every one to quit the 
country with his family and his property. From Antwerp 
the prince hastened to Holland, Zealand, and Utrecht, in 
order to make there similar arrangements for the restoration 
of peace ; Antwerp, however, was, during his absence, en- 
trusted to the superintendence of Count Hogstraten, who was 
a mild man, and although an adherent of the League, had 
never failed in loyalty to the king. It is evident that in 
this agreement the prince had far overstepped the powers 
entrusted to him, and though in the service of the king, had 
acted exactly like a sovereign lord. But he alleged in 
excuse, that it would be far easier to the magistrate to watch 
these numerous and powerful sects, if he himself interfered 
in their worship, and if this took place under his eyes, than 
if he were to leave the sectarians to themselves in the 
open air. 

In Gueldres, Count Megen showed more severity, and 
entirely supressed the Protestant sects and banished all their 
preachers. In Brussels, the regent availed herself of the 
advantage derived from her personal presence, to put a stop 
to the public preaching, even outside the town. When, in 
reference to this, Count Nassau reminded her, in the name of 
the confederates, of the compact which had been entered 
into, and demanded if the town of Brussels had inferior rights 
to the other towns ? she answered, if there were public preach- 
ings in Brussels before the treaty, it was not her work if they 
were now discontinued. At the same time, however, she 
secretly gave the citizens to understand, that the first who 
should venture to attend a public sermon should certainly 
be hung. Thus she kept the capital at least faithful to her. 

It was more difficult to quiet Tournay, which office was 
committed to Count Horn, in the place of Montigny, to 
whose government the town properly belonged. Horn com- 
manded the Protestants to vacate the churches immediately, 
|od to content themselves with a house of worship outside 
the walls. To this their preachers objected, that the churches 
were erected for the use of the people, by which term, 
{ they said, not the heads but the majority were meant 
If they were expelled from the Roman Catholic churches, it 



12 HISTOEY OF THE 

was at least fair that they should be furnished with money for 
erecting churches of their own. To this the magistrate 
replied, even if the Catholic party was the weaker, it was 
indisputably the better. ' The erection of churches should not 
be forbidden them ; they could not, however, after the injury 
which the town had already suffered from their brethren, the 
Iconoclasts, very well expect that it should be further bur- 
dened by the erection of their churches. After long quar- 
relling on both sides, the Protestants contrived to retain 
possession of some churches, which, for greater security, they 
occupied with guards. In Valenciennes, too, the Protestants 
refused submission to the conditions which were offered to 
them through Philip St. Aldegonde, Baron of Noircarmes, to 
whom, in the absence of the Marquis of Bergen, the govern- 
ment of that place was entrusted. A reformed preacher, 
La Grange, a Frenchman by birth, who by his eloquence had 
gained a complete command over them, urged them to insist 
on having churches of their own within the town, arid to 
threaten in case of refusal to deliver it up to the Hugue- 
nots. A sense of the superior numbers of the Calvinists, 
and of their understanding with the Huguenots, prevented 
the governor adopting forcible measures against them. 

Count Egmont also, to manifest his zeal for the king's ser- 
vice, did violence to his natural kind-heartedness. Introducing 
a garrison into the town of Ghent, he caused some of the most 
refractory rebels to be put to death. The churches were re- 
opened, the Roman Catholic worship renewed, and all fo- 
reigners, without exception, ordered to quit the province. To 
the Calvinists, but to them alone, a site was granted outside 
the town for the erection of a church. In return, they 
were compelled to pledge themselves to the most rigid 
obedience to the municipal authorities, and to active co- 
operation in the proceedings against the Iconoclasts. He 
pursued similar measures through all Flanders and Artois. 
One of his noblemen, John Cassembrot, Baron of Beckerzeel, 
and a Leaguer, pursuing the Iconoclasts at the head of some 
horsemen of the League, surprised a band of them, just as they 
were about to break into a town of Hainault, near Grammont, 
in Flanders, and took thirty of them prisoners, of whom 
twenty-two were hung upon the spot, and the rest whipped 
out of the province. 



EEVOLT OF THE NETHEELANDS. IS 

Services of such importance, one would have thought, 
scarcely deserved to he rewarded with the displeasure of the 
king ; what Orange, Egmont, and Horn performed on this 
occasion, evinced at least as much zeal, and had as beneficial 
a result, as anything that was accomplished by Noircarmes, 
Megen, and Aremberg, to whom the king vouchsafed to show his 
gratitude both by words and deeds. But their zeal, their ser- 
vices, came too late. They had spoken too loudly against his 
edicts, had been too vehement in their opposition to his mea 
sures, had insulted him too grossly in the person of his minis- 
ter Granvella, to leave room for forgiveness. No time, no 
repentance, no atonement, however great, could efface this 
one offence from the memory of their sovereign. 

Philip lay sick at Segovia, when the news of the out- 
break of the Iconoclasts, and the uncatholic agreement entered 
into with the Eeformers, reached him. At the same time, the 
regent renewed her urgent entreaty for his personal visit, 
of which also all the letters treated, which the President 
Viglius exchanged with his friend Hopper. Many also of 
the Belgian nobles addressed special letters to the king, 
as, for instance, Egmont, Mansfeld, Megen, Aremberg, Noir- 
carmes, and Barlaimont, in which they reported the state 
of their provinces, and at once explained and justified the 
arrangements they had made with the disaffected. Just at 
this period a letter arrived from the German Emperor, in 
which he recommended Philip to act with clemency towards 
his Belgian subjects, and offered his mediation in the matter. 
He had also written direct to the regent herself in Brussels, 
and added letters to the several leaders of the nobility, 
which, however, were never delivered. Having conquered the 
first anger which this hateful occurrence had excited, the king 
referred the whole matter to his council. 

The party of Granvella, which had the preponderance in 
the council, was diligent in tracing a close connexion between 
the behaviour of the Flemish nobles and the excesses of the 
church desecrators, which showed itself in the similarity of 
the demands of both parties, and especially the time which 
the latter chose for their outbreak. In the same month, they 
observed, in which the nobles had sent in their three articles 
of pacification, the Iconoclasts had commenced their work; 
on the evening of the very day that Orange quitted Antwerp, 



J 4 HISTORY OF 1 HE 

the churches, too, were plundered. During the whole tumult 
not a finger was lifted to take up arms ; all the expediei ta 
employed were invariably such as turned to the advantage of 
the sects, while, on the contrary, all others were neglected 
which tended to the maintenance of the pure faith. Many of 
the Iconoclasts, it was further said, had confessed that all 
that they had done was with the knowledge and consent of the 
princes ; though surely nothing was more natural, than for 
such worthless wretches to seek to screen with great names a 
crime which they had undertaken solely on their own account. 
A writing also was produced, in which the high nobility were 
made to promise their services to the " Gueux," to procure 
the assembly of the States General, the genuineness of which, 
however, the former strenuously denied. Four different se- 
ditious parties were, they said, to be noticed in the Nether- 
lands, which were all more or less connected with one another, 
and all worked towards a common end. One of these, was 
those bands of reprobates who desecrated the churches ; a 
second consisted of the various sects who had hired the former 
to perform their infamous acts ; the " Gueux," who had 
raised themselves to be the defenders of the sects, were the 
third ; and the leading nobles, who were inclined to the 
" Gueux ". by feudal connexions, relationship, and friendship, 
composed the fourth. All, consequently, were alike fatally 
infected, and all equally guilty. The government had not 
merely to guard against a few isolated members ; it had to 
contend with the whole body. Since, then, it was ascertained 
that the people were the seduced party, and the encourage- 
ment to rebellion came from higher quarters, it would be wise 
and expedient to alter the plan hitherto adopted, which now 
appeared defective in several respects. Inasmuch as all classes 
had been oppressed without distinction, and as much of se 
verity shown to the lower orders as of contempt to the 
nobles, both had been compelled to lend support to one an- 
other ; a" party had been given to the latter, and leaders to 
the former. Unequal treatment seemed an infallible expe- 
dient to separate them ; the mob, always timid and indolent 
when not goaded by the extremity of distress, would very 
soon desert its adored protectors, and quickly learn to see in 
their fate well-merited retribution, if only it was not driven 
to share it with them. It was therefore proposed to the king 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 1£ 

to treat the great multitude for the future with more leniency, 
and to direct all measures of severity against the leaders of 
the faction. In order, however, to avoid the appearance of a 
disgraceful concession, it was considered advisable to accept 
the mediation of the Emperor, and to impute to it alone, and 
not to the justice of their demands, that the king, out of pure 
generosity, had granted to his Belgian subjects as much as 
they asked. 

The question of the king's personal visit to the provinces 
was now again mooted, and all the difficulties which had for- 
merly been raised on this head, appeared to vanish before 
the present emergency. " Now," said Tyssenacque and 
Hopper, " the juncture has really arrived at which the 
king, according to his own declaration, formerly made to 
Count Egmont, will be ready to risk a thousand lives. To 
restore quiet to Ghent, Charles V. had undertaken a trouble- 
some and dangerous journey through an enemy's country. 
This was done for the sake of one single town ; and now 
the peace, perhaps even the possession, of all the United Pro- 
vinces was at stake." This was the opinion of the majority; 
and the journey of the king was looked upon as a matter from 
which he could not possibly any longer escape. 

The question now was, whether he should enter upon it 
with a numerous body of attendants, or with few ; and here 
the Prince of Eboli and Count Figueroa were at issue with 
the Duke of Alva, as their private interests clashed. If the 
king journeyed at the head of an army, the presence of the 
Duke of Alva would be indispensable, who, on the other hand, 
if matters were peaceably adjusted, would be less required, and 
must make room for his rivals. "An army," said Figueroa, 
who spoke first, " would alarm the princes, through whose 
territories it must march, and perhaps even be opposed by 
them ; it would, moreover, unnecessarily burden the pro- 
vinces for whose tranquillization it was intended, and add a 
new grievance to the many which had already driven the 
people to such lengths. It would press indiscriminately upon 
all of the king's subjects, whereas a court of justice, peaceably 
administering its office, would observe a marked distinction 
between the innocent and the guilty. The unwonted violence 
of the former course would tempt the leaders of the faction 
to take a more alarming view of their behaviour, in which 



16 HISTOKY OF THE 

wantonness and levity had the chief share, and consequently 
induce them to proceed with deliberation and union; the^ 
thought of haying forced the king to such lengths would 
plunge them into despair, in which they would be ready to 
undertake anything. If the king placed himself in arms 
against the rebels, he would forfeit the most important ad- 
vantage which he possessed over them, namely, his authority 
as sovereign of the country, which would prove the more 
powerful in proportion as he showed his reliance upon that 
alone. He would place himself thereby, as it were, on a 
level with the rebels, who, on their side, would not be at 
a loss to raise an army, as the universal hatred of the Spanish 
forces would operate in their favour with the nation. By this 
procedure, the king would exchange the certain advantage 
which his position as sovereign of the country conferred upon 
him, for the uncertain result of military operations, which, 
result as they might, would of necessity destroy a portion of 
his own subjects. The rumour of his hostile approach would 
outrun him time enough to allow all who w T ere conscious of a 
bad cause to place themselves in a posture of defence, and to 
combine and render availing both their foreign and domestic 
resources. Here, again, the general alarm would do them 
important service ; the uncertainty who would be the first 
object of this warlike approach, would drive even the less 
guilty to the general mass of the rebels, and force those to 
become enemies to the king, who otherwise would never 
have been so. If, however, he was coming among them with- 
out such a formidable accompaniment ; if his appearance was 
less that of a sanguinary judge than of an angry parent, the 
courage of all good men would rise, and the bad would perish 
in their own security. They would persuade themselves what 
had happened was unimportant, that it did not appear to the 
king of sufficient moment to call for strong measures. They 
wished, if they could, to avoid the chance of ruining, by acts 
of open violence, a cause which might perhaps yet be saved ; 
consequently, by this quiet, peaceable method, every thing 
would be gained, which by the other would be irretrievably 
lost; the loyal subject would in no degree be involved in the 
same punishment with the culpable rebel ; on the latter alone 
would the whole weight of the royal indignation descend 
Lastly, the enormous expenses would be avoided, which the 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 11 

tranport of a Spanish army to those distant regions would 
occasion. 

'" But," began the Duke of Alva, " ought the injury of some 
few citizens to be considered, when danger impends over the 
whole ? Because a few of the loyally disposed may suffer 
wrong, are the rebels therefore not to be chastised ? The 
offence has been universal, why then should not the pun- 
ishment be the same? What the rebels have incurred by 
their actions, the rest have incurred equally by their supine- 
ness. Whose fault is it but theirs, that the former have? 
so far succeeded? Why did they not promptly oppose 
their first attempts ? It is said, that circumstances were 
not so desperate as to justify this violent remedy; but who 
will ensure us that they will not be so, by the time the 
king arrives, especially when, according to every fresh de 
spatch of the regent, all is hastening with rapid strides to a 
ruinous consummation ? Is it a hazard we ought to run, to 
leave the king to discover on his entrance into the provinces 
the necessity of his having brought with him a military force ? 
It is a fact only too well established, that the rebels have secured 
foreign succours which stand ready at their command on the 
first signal ; will it then be time to think of preparing for 
war, when the enemy pass the frontiers ? Is it a wise risk 
to rely for aid upon the nearest Belgian troops, when their 
loyalty is so little to be depended upon ? And is not the 
regent perpetually reverting in her despatches to the fact, 
that nothing but the want of a suitable military force has 
hitherto hindered her from enforcing the edicts, and stopping 
the progress of the rebels? A well- disciplined and formi- 
dable army alone will disappoint all their hopes of maintain- 
ing themselves in opposition to their lawful sovereign, and 
nothing but the certain prospect of destruction will make 
them lower their demands. Besides, without an adequate 
force, the king cannot venture his person in hostile countries; 
he cannot enter into any treaties with his rebellious subjects 
which would not be derogatory to his honour." 

The authority of the speaker gave preponderance to 
his arguments, and the next question was, when the king 
should commence his journey, and what road he should take. 
» As the voyage by sea was on every account extremely hazard 

o 



18 HISTORY OF THE 

oas, he had no other alternative but either to proceed thither 
through the passes near Trent across Germany, or to pene- 
trate from Savoy over the Apennine Alps. The first route 
would expose him to the danger of the attack of the German 
Protestants, who were not likely to view with indifference the 
objects of his journey, and a passage over the Apennines was 
at this late season of the year not to be attempted. More- 
over, it would be necessary to send for the requisite galleys 
from Italy, and repair them, which would take several months. 
Finally, as the assembly of the Cortes of Castile, from which 
he could not well be absent, was already appointed for Decem- 
ber, the journey could not be undertaken before the spring. 
Meanwhile, the regent pressed for explicit instructions how 
she was to extricate herself from her present embarrassment, 
without compromising the royal dignity too far ; and it was 
necessary to do something in the interval, till the king could 
undertake to appease the troubles by his personal presence. 
Two separate letters were therefore despatched to the duchess ; 
one public, which she could lay before the states and the 
council chambers, and one private, which was intended for 
herself alone. In the first, the king announced to her his 
restoration to health and the fortunate birth of the Infanta, 
Clara Isabella Eugenia, afterwards wife of the Archduke Al- 
bert of Austria, and Princess of the Netherlands. He de- 
clared to her his present firm intention to visit the Nether- 
lands in person, for which he was already making the neces- 
sary preparations. The assembling of the states he refused, 
as he had previously done. No mention was made in this 
letter of the agreement which she had entered into with the 
Protestants and with the League, because he did not deem it 
advisable at present absolutely to reject it, and he was still 
less disposed to acknowledge its validity. On the other hand, 
he ordered her to reinforce the army, to draw together new 
regiments from Germany, and to meet the refractory with 
force. For the rest, he concluded, he relied upon the loyalty 
of the leading nobility, among whom he knew many who were 
sincere in their attachment both to their religion and their 
king. In the secret letter, she was again enjoined to do all in 
her power to prevent the assembling of the states ; but if the 
general voice should become irresistible, and she was com 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. V* 

pelled to yield, she was at least to manage so cautiously, that 
the royal dignity should not suffer, and no one learn the king's 
consent to their assembly. 

While these consulations were held in Spain, the Protest- 
ants in the Netherlands made the most extensive use of the 
privileges which had been compulsorily granted to them. 
The erection of churches, wherever it was permitted, was com- 
pleted with incredible rapidity ; young and old, gentle and sim- 
ple, assisted in carrying stones ; women sacrificed even their 
ornaments in order to accelerate the work. The two religious 
parties established in several towns consistories, and a church 
council of their own, the first move of the kind being made in 
Antwerp, and placed their form of worship on a well regulated 
footing. It was also proposed, to raise a common fund by 
subscription, to meet any sudden emergency of the Protestant 
church in general. In Antwerp, a memorial was presented by 
the Calvinists of that town to the Count of Hogstraten, in 
which they offered to pay three millions of dollars to secure 
the free exercise of their religion. Many copies of this writ- 
ing were circulated in the Netherlands ; and in order to sti- 
mulate others, many had ostentatiously subscribed their names 
to large sums. Various interpretations of this extravagant 
offer were made by the enemies of the reformers, and all had 
some appearance of reason. For instance, it was urged that 
under the pretext of collecting the requisite sum for fulfilling 
this engagement, they hoped, without suspicion, to raise funds 
for military purposes ; for whether they should be called upon 
to contribute for or against, they would, it was thought, be 
more ready to burden themselves ^ith a view of preserving 
peace, than for an oppressive and devastating war. Others 
saw in this offer nothing more than a temporary stratagem 01 
the Protestants, by which they hoped to bind the court and 
keep it irresolute, until they should have gained sufficient 
strength to confront it. Others again declared it to be a 
downright bravado in order to alarm the regent, and to raise 
the courage of their own party by the display of such rich re- 
sources. But whatever was the true motive of this pro- 
position, its originators gained little by it; the contributions 
flowed in scantily and slowly, and the court answered the pro- 
posal with silent contempt. The excesses, too, of the Icono- 
clasts, far from promoting the cause of the League and ad* 

c 2 



20 HISTORY OF THE 

vancing the Protestant interests, had done irreparable injur}' 
to both. The sight of their ruined churches, which, in the 
language of Viglius, resembled stables more than houses of 
God, enraged the Roman Catholics, and above all the clergy. 
All of that religion, who had hitherto been members of the 
League, now forsook it, alleging that even if it had not in- 
tentionally excited and encouraged the excesses of the Icono- 
clasts, it had beyond question remotely led to them. The in 
tolerance of the Calvinists, who, wherever they were the 
ruling party, cruelly oppressed the Roman Catholics, com- 
pletely expelled the delusion in wilich the latter had long in- 
dulged, and they withdrew their support from a party, from 
which, if they obtained the upper hand, their own religion 
had so much cause to fear. Thus the League lost many of 
its best members ; the friends and patrons, too, which it had 
hitherto found amongst the well-disposed citizens now de- 
serted it, and its character began perceptibly to decline. The 
severity with which some of its members had acted against 
the Iconoclasts, in order to prove their good disposition to- 
wards the regent, and to remove the suspicion of any connexion 
with the malcontents, had also injured them with the people, 
who favoured the latter, and thus the League was in danger 
of ruining itself with both parties at the same time. 

The regent had no sooner become acquainted with this 
change in the public mind, than she devised a plan by which 
she hoped gradually to dissolve the whole League, or at least 
to enfeeble it through internal dissensions. For this end, she 
availed herself of the private letters, which the king had ad- 
dressed to some of the nobles, and enclosed to her, with full 
liberty to use them at her discretion. These letters, which 
overflowed with kind expressions, were presented to those for 
whom they were intended with an attempt at secrecy, which 
designedly miscarried, so that on each occasion, some one or 
other of those who had received nothing of the sort got a hint 
of them. In order to spread suspicion the more widely, nu- 
merous copies of the letters were circulated. This artifice 
attained its object. Many members of the League began to 
doubt the honesty of those to w T hom such brilliant promises 
were made; through fear of being deserted by their prin- 
cipal members and supporters, they eagerly accepted the 
conditions which were offered them by the regent, and evinced 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 21 

great anxiety for a speedy reconciliation with the court. The 
general rumour of the impending visit of the king, which the 
regent took care to have widely circulated, was also of great 
service to her in this matter ; many who could not augur much 
good to themselves from the royal presence, did not hesitate 
to accept a pardon, which, perhaps, for what they could tell, 
was offered them for the last time. Among those who thus 
received private letters, were Egmont and the Prince of 
Orange. Both had complained to the king of the evil reports 
with which designing persons in Spain had laboured to brand 
their names, and to throw suspicion on their motives and in- 
tentions ; Egmont, in particular, with the honest simplicity 
which was peculiar to his character, had asked the monarch, 
only to point out to him what he most desired, to determine 
the particular action by which his favour could be best ob- 
tained, and zeal in his service evinced, and it should, he as- 
sured him, be done. The king, in reply, caused the President 
Von Tyssenacque, to tell him that he could do nothing better 
to refute his traducers than to show perfect submission to the 
royal orders, which were so clearly and precisely drawn up, 
that no further exposition of them was required, nor any par- 
ticular instruction. It was the sovereign's part to deliberate, 
to examine, and to decide ; unconditionally to obey was the 
duty of the subject ; the honour of the latter consisted in his 
obedience. It did not become a member to hold itself wiser 
than the head. He was assuredly to be blamed for not having 
done his utmost to curb the unruliness of his sectarians ; but 
it was even yet in his power to make up for past negligence 
by at least maintaining peace and order until the actuax 
arrival of the king. In thus punishing Count Egmont 
with reproofs like a disobedient child, the king treated him 
in accordance with what he knew of his character ; with his 
friend he found it necessary to call in the aid of artifice and 
deceit. Orange, too, in his letter, had alluded to the sus- 
picions which the king entertained of his loyalty and attach- 
ment, but not like Egmont, in the vain hope of removing 
them ; for this he had long given up ; but in order to pass 
from these complaints to a request for permission to resign 
his offices. He had already frequently made this request to tho 
regent, but had always received from her a refusal, accompanied 
with the strongest assurance of her regard. The king also 



22 HISTORY OF THE 

jo whom he now at last addressed a direct application, re 
turned him the same answer, graced with similar strong as- 
surances of his satisfaction and gratitude. In particular, ho 
expressed the high satisfaction he entertained of the services, 
which he had lately rendered the Crown in Antwerp, and 
lamented deeply, that the private affairs of the prince (which 
the latter had made his chief plea for demanding his dismissal) 
should have fallen into such disorder; but ended with the 
declaration that it was impossible for him to dispense with his 
valuable services, at a crisis which demanded the increase, 
rather than diminution, of his good and honest servants. He 
had thought, he added, that the prince entertained a better 
opinion of him, than to suppose him capable of giving credit 
to the idle talk of certain persons, who were friends neither 
to the prince nor to himself. But, at the same time, to give 
him a proof of his sincerity, he complained to him in confi- 
dence of his brother, the Count of Nassau, pretended to ask 
his advice in the matter, and finally expressed a wish to have 
the count removed for a period from the Netherlands 

But Philip had here to do with a head which, in cunning, 
was superior to his own. The Prince of Orange had, for a 
long time, held watch over him and his Privy Council in 
Madrid and Segovia, through a host of spies, who reported to 
him every thing of importance that was transacted there. The 
court of this most secret of all despots had become accessible 
to his intriguing spirit and his money ; in this manner, he had 
gained possession of several autograph letters of the regent, 
which she had secretly written to Madrid, and had caused 
copies to be circulated in triumph in Brussels, and in a mea- 
sure under her own eyes, insomuch that she saw with as- 
tonishment in every body's hands what she thought was pre- 
served with so much care, and entreated the king for the 
future to destroy her despatches immediately they were read. 
William's vigilance did not confine itself simply to the Court 
of Spain, he had spies in France, and even at more distant 
courts. He is also charged with not being over scrupulous 
as to the means by which he acquired his intelligence. But 
the most important disclosure was made by an intercepted 
letter of the Spanish ambassador in France, Francis Von 
Aiava, to the duchess, in which the former descanted on the 
fair opportunity which was now afforded to the king through 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 23 

the guilt of the Netherlandish people, of establishing an ar 
bitrary power in that country. He therefore advised her, to 
deceive the nobles by the very arts which they had hitherto 
employed against herself, and to secure them through smooth 
words, and an obliging behaviour. The king, he concluded, 
who knew the nobles to be the hidden springs of all the pre- 
vious troubles, would take good care to lay hands upon them 
at the first favourable opportunity, as well as the two, whom 
he had already in Spain ; and did not mean to let them 
go again, having sworn to make an example in them, which 
should horrify the whole of Christendom, even if it should 
cost him his hereditary dominions. This piece of evil news 
was strongly corroborated by the letters which Bergen and 
Montigny wrote from Spain, and in which they bitterly com- 
plained of the contemptuous behaviour of the Grandees, and 
the altered deportment of the monarch towards them, and the 
Prince of Orange was now fully sensible what he had to ex- 
pect from the fair promises of the king. 

The letter of the minister Alava, together with some 
others from Spain, which gave a circumstantial account 
of the approaching warlike visit of the king, and of his 
evil intentions against the nobles, w 7 as laid by the prince 
before his brother Count Louis of Nassau, Counts Egmont, 
Horn, and Hogstraten, at a meeting at Dendermonde in 
Flanders, whither these five knights had repaired to confer on 
the measures necessary for their security. Count Louis, who 
listened only to his feelings of indignation, foolhardily main- 
tained, that they ought, without loss of time, to take up arms 
and seize some strongholds. That they ought at all risks to 
prevent the king's armed entrance into the provinces. That 
they should endeavour to prevail on the Swiss, the Protestant 
princes of Germany, and the Huguenots to arm and obstruct 
his passage through their territories ; and if, notwithstanding, 
he should force his way through these impediments, that the 
Flemings should meet him with an army on the frontiers. 
He would take upon himself to negociate a defensive alliance 
in France, in Switzerland, and in Germany, and to raise in 
the latter empire four thousand horse, together with a propor- 
tionate body of infantry ; pretexts would not be wanting for 
collecting the requisite supplies of money, and the merchants 
of the reformed sect would, he felt assured, not fail them. 



£<i HISTORY OF THE 

But William, more cautious and more wise, declared himseli 
against this proposal, which, in the execution, would be ex- 
posed to numberless difficulties, and had as yet nothing to 
justify it. The Inquisition, he represented, was in fact abo- 
lished, the edicts were nearly sunk into oblivion, and a fair 
degree of religious liberty accorded. Hitherto, therefore, 
there existed no valid or adequate excuse for adopting this 
hostile method ; he did not doubt, however, that one would 
be presented to them before long, and in good time for prepar- 
ation. His own opinion, consequently, was that they should 
await this opportunity with patience, and in the mean while 
still keep a watchful eye upon everything, and contrive to give 
the people a hint of the threatened danger, that they might be 
ready to act if circumstances should call for their co-operation. 
If all present had assented to the opinion of the Prince of 
Orange, there is no doubt but so powerful a league, formid- 
able both by the influence and the high character of its mem- 
bers, would have opposed obstacles to the designs of the king 
which would have compelled him to abandon them en- 
tirely. But the determination of the assembled knights was 
much shaken by the declaration with which Count Egmont 
flurprised them. "Rather," said he, "may all that is evil 
befall me, than that I should tempt fortune so rashly. The 
idle talk of the Spaniard Alava does not move me ; how should 
such a person be able to read the mind of a sovereign so re- 
served as Philip, and to decipher his secrets ? The intelli- 
gence which Montigny gives us, goes to prove nothing more 
than that the king has a very doubtful opinion of our zeal for 
his service, and believes he has cause to distrust our loyalty ; 
and for this, I, for my part, must confess that we have 
given him only too much cause. And it is my serious pur- 
pose, by redoubling my zeal, to regain his good opinion, and 
by my future behaviour to remove, if possible, the distrust 
which my actions have hitherto excited. How could I tear 
myself from the arms of my numerous and dependent family, 
to wander as an exile at foreign courts, a burden to every one 
who received me, the slave of every one who condescended to 
assist me — a servant of foreigners, in order to escape a slight- 
degree of constraint at home ? Never can the monarch act 
unkindly towards a servant who was once beloved and dear 
to him, and who has established a well grounded claim to his 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. £6 

gratitude. Never shall I be persuaded, that he, who has ex 
pressed such favourable, such gracious sentiments towards his 
Belgian subjects, and with his own mouth gave me such 
emphatic, such solemn assurances, can be now devising, 
as it is pretended, such tyrannical schemes against them. If 
we do but restore to the country its former repose, chastise 
the rebels, and re-establish the Koman Catholic form of 
worship wherever it has been violently suppressed, then, be- 
lieve me, we shall hear no more of Spanish troops. This is 
the course to which I now invite you all by my counsel and 
my example, and to which also most of our brethren already 
incline. I, for my part, fear nothing from the anger of the 
king. My conscience acquits me. I trust my fate and for- 
tunes to his justice and clemency." In vain did Nassau, Horn, 
and Orange labour to shake his resolution, and to open his 
eyes to the near and inevitable danger. Egmont was really 
attached to the king ; the royal favours, and the condescen- 
sion with which they were conferred were still fresh in his 
remembrance. The attentions with which the monarch had 
distinguished him above all his friends, had not failed of their 
effect. It was more from false shame than from party spirit 
that he had defended the cause of his countrymen against him ; 
more from temperament and natural kindness of heart, than 
from tried principles, that he had opposed the severe mea- 
sures of the government. The love of the nation, which wor- 
shipped him as its idol, carried him away. Too vain to re- 
nounce a title which sounded so agreeable, he had been com- 
pelled to do something to deserve it ; but a single look at his 
family — a harsher designation applied to his conduct — a dan- 
gerous inference drawn from it — the mere sound of crime ter- 
rified him from his self-delusion, and scared him back in haste 
and alarm to his duty. 

Orange's whole plan was frustrated by Egmont 's with- 
drawal. The latter possessed the hearts of the people and 
the confidence of the army, without which it was utterly im- 
possible to undertake any thing effective. The rest had 
reckoned with so much certainty upon him, that his unex- 
pected defection rendered the whole meeting nugatory. They 
therefore separated without coming to a determination. All 
who had met in Dendermonde were expected in the Council 
of State in Brussels; but Egmont alone repaired thither. 



26 HISTORY OF THE 

The regent wished to sift him on the subject of this confer- 
ence, but she could extract nothing further from him, than 
the production of the letter of Alava, of which he had pur- 
posely taken a copy, and which with the bitterest reproofs he 
laid before her. At first she changed colour at sight of it, 
but quickly recovering herself, she boldly declared that it was 
a forgery. "How can this letter," she said, " really come 
from Alava, when I miss none ; and would he, who pretends 
to have intercepted it, have spared the other letters ? Nay, 
how can it be true, when not a single packet has miscarried, 
nor a single despatch failed to come to hand ? How, too, can 
it be thought likely that the king would have made Alava 
master of a secret, which he has not communicated even to 
me?" 



CIVIL WAR. 

1566. Meanwhile the regent hastened to take advantage of 
the schism amongst the nobles to complete the ruin of the 
League, which was already tottering under the weight of in- 
ternal dissensions. Without loss of time, she drew from Ger- 
many the troops which Duke Eric of Brunswick was holding 
in readiness, augmented the cavalry, and raised five regiments 
of Walloons, the command of which she gave to Counts 
Mansfield, Megen, Aremberg, and others. To the prince, 
likewise, she felt it necessary to confide troops, both be- 
cause she did not wish, by withholding them pointedly, to in 
suit him, and also because the provinces of which he was 
governor was in urgent need of them ; but she took the pre- 
caution of joining with him a Colonel Waldenfinger, who 
should watch all his steps, and thwart his measures if they 
appeared dangerous. To Count Egmont, the clergy in 
Flanders paid a contribution of forty thousand gold florins foi 
the maintenance of 1500 men, whom he distributed among 
the places where danger was most apprehended. Every 
governor was ordered to increase his military force, and to 
provide himself with ammunition. These energetic prepara- 
tions which were making in all places, left no doubt as to the 
measures which the regent would adopt in future. Conscious 
of her superior force, and certain of this important support, 



1 



KEV0LT OF THE NETHERLANDS 27 

she now ventured to change her tone, and to employ quito 
another language with the rebels. She began to put the 
most arbitrary interpretation on the concessions which, through 
fear and necessity, she had made to the Protestants, and to 
restrict all the liberties which she had tacitly granted them 
to the mere permission of their preaching. All other reli 
gious exercises and rites, which yet appeared to be involved 
in the former privilege, were, by new edicts, expressly for- 
bidden, and all offenders in such matters were to be proceeded 
against as traitors. The Protestants were permitted to think 
differently from the ruling church upon the sacrament, but 
to receive it differently was a crime ; baptism, marriage, 
burial, after their fashion, were prohibited under pain of 
death. It was a cruel mockery to allow them their reli- 
gion, and forbid the exercise of it; but this mean artifice 
of the regent to escape from the obligation of her pledged 
word, was worthy of the pusillanimity with which she 
had submitted to its being extorted from her. She took 
advantage of the most trifling innovations, and the smallest 
excesses, to interrupt the preachings ; and some of the 
preachers, under the charge of having performed their office 
in places not appointed to them, were brought to trial, con- 
demned and executed. On more than one occasion, the 
regent publicly declared that the confederates had taken un- 
fair advantage of her fears, and that she did not feel herself 
bound by an engagement which had been extorted from her by 
threats. 

Of all the Belgian towns which had participated in the insur- 
rection of the Iconoclasts, none had caused the regent so much 
alarm as the town of Valenciennes in Hainault. In no other 
was the party of the Calvinists so powerful, and the spirit of 
rebellion for which the province of Hainault had always made 
itself conspicuous, seemed to dwell here as in its native place 
The propinquity of France, to which, as well by language as 
by manners, this town appeared to belong, rather than to the 
Netherlands, had from the first led to its being governed with 
great mildness and forbearance, which, however, only taught 
it to feel its own importance. At the last outbreak of the 
church desecrators it had been on the point of surrendering 
to the Huguenots, with whom it maintained the closest under 
standing The slightest excitement might renew this danger. 



§8 HISTOKY OF THE 

On this account Valenciennes was the first town to which thr 
regent proposed, as soon as it should be in her power, to send 
a strong garrison. Philip of Noircarmes, Baron of St. Aide 
gonde, Governor of Hainault in the place of the absent Mar- 
quis of Bergen, had received this charge, and now appeared at 
the head of an army before its walls. Deputies came to meet 
him on the part of the magistrate from the town, to petition 
against the garrison, because the Protestant citizens, who 
were the superior number, had declared against it. Noir- 
carmes acquainted them with the will of the regent, and gave 
them the choice between the garrison or a siege. He assured 
them that not more than four squadrons of horse and six 
companies of foot should be imposed upon the town ; and for 
this he would give them his son as a hostage. These terms 
were laid before the magistrate, who, for his part, was much 
inclined to accept them. But Peregrine Le Grange, the 
preacher, and the idol of the populace, to whom it was of vital 
importance to prevent a submission of which he would inevit- 
ably become the victim, appeared at the head of his followers, 
and by his powerful eloquence excited the people to reject the 
conditions. When their answer was brought to Noircarmes, 
contrary to all law of nations, he caused the messengers to be 
placed in irons, and carried them away with him as prisoners ; 
he was, however, by express command of the regent compelled 
to set them free again. The regent, instructed by secret 
orders from Madrid to exercise as much forbearance as possi- 
ble, caused the town to be repeatedly summoned to receive 
the garrison ; when, however, it obstinately persisted in it& 
refusal, it was declared by public edict to be in rebellion, and 
Noircarmes was authorized to commence the siege in form. 
The other provinces were forbidden to assist this rebellious 
town with advice, money, or arms. All the property contained 
in it was confiscated. In order to let it see the war, before 
it began in earnest, and to give it time for rational reflection, 
Noircarmes drew together troops from all Hainault and Cam 
bray (1566), took possession of St. Amant, and p]aced gam 
Bons in all adjacent places. 

The line of conduct adopted towards Valenciennes, allowed 
the other towns which were similarly situated, to infer the 
fate which was intended for them also, and at once put the 
whole League in motion, An army of the Gueux between 



EEVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 29 

3000 and 4000 strong, which was hastily collected from the 
rabble of fugitives, and the remaining bands of the Iconoclasts, 
Rppeared in the territories of Tournay and Lille, in order to 
secure these two towns, and to annoy the enemy at Valen- 
ciennes. The commandant of Lille was fortunate enough to 
maintain that place by routing a detachment of this army, 
which, in concert with the Protestant inhabitants, had made 
an attempt to get possession of it. At the same time, the 
army of the Gueux, which was uselessly wasting its time at 
Lannoy, was surprised by Noircarmes and almost entirely an- 
nihilated. The few, who with desperate courage forced their 
way through the enemy, threw themselves into the town of 
Tournay, which was immediately summoned by the victor to 
open its gates and admit a garrison. Its prompt obedience 
obtained for it a milder fate. Noircarmes contented himself 
with abolishing the Protestant consistory, banishing the 
preachers, punishing the leaders of the rebels, and again re- 
establishing the Eoman Catholic worship, which he found 
almost entirely suppressed. After giving it a stedfast 
Eoman Catholic as governor, and leaving in it a sufficient 
garrison, he again reliurned with his victorious army to Valen- 
ciennes to press the siege 

This town, confident in its strength, actively prepared for de- 
fence, firmly resolved to allow things to come to extremes before 
it surrendered. The inhabitant had not neglected to furnish 
themselves with ammunition and provisions for a long siege ; 
all who could carry arms, (the very artisans not excepted,) be- 
came soldiers ; the houses before the town, and especially the 
cloisters, were pulled down, that the besiegers might not avail 
themselves of them to cover their attack. The few adherents 
of the crown, awed by the multitude, were silent ; no Eoman 
Catholic ventured to stir himself. Anarchy and rebellion had 
taken the place of good order, and the fanaticism of a foolhardy 
priest gave laws, instead of the legal dispensers of justice. The 
male population was numerous, their courage confirmed by de- 
spair, their confidence unbounded that the siege would be 
raised, while their hatred against the Eoman Catholic religion 
was excited to the highest pitch. Many had no mercy to ex 
pect, all abhorred the general thraldom of an imperious garrison. 
Noircarmes, whose army had become formidable through the 
/reinforcements which streamed to it from all quarters, and 



W HISTORY OF THE 

fras abundantly furnished with all the requisites for a long 
blockade, once more attempted to prevail on the town by 
gentle means, but in vain. At last he caused the trenches to 
be opened, and prepared to invest the place. 

In the mean while, the position of the Protestants had 
grown as much worse as that of the regent had improved. 
The league of the nobles had gradually melted away to a 
third of its original number. Some of its most important 
defenders, Count Egmont, for instance, had gone over to 
the king ; the pecuniary contributions which had been so con- 
fidently reckoned upon came in but slowly and scantily ; the 
zeal of the party began perceptibly to cool, and the close of the 
fine season made it necessary to discontinue the public preach- 
ings, which, up to this time, had been continued. These and 
other reasons combined, induced the declining party to mode- 
rate its demands, and to try every legal expedient before it 
proceed to extremities. In a general synod of the Protest- 
ants, which was held for this object in Antwerp, and which 
was also attended by some of the confederates, it was resolved 
to send deputies to the regent, to remonstrate with her upon 
this breach of faith, and to remind her of her compact. Bre- 
derode undertook this office, but was obliged to submit to a 
harsh and disgraceful rebuff, and was shut out of Brussels. 
He had now recourse to a written memorial, in which, in the 
name of the whole league, he complained that the duchess 
Lad, by violating her word, falsified in sight of all the Protest- 
ants the security given by the league, in reliance on which all 
of them had laid down their arms ; that by her insincerity she 
had undone all the good which the confederates had laboured 
to effect ; that she had sought to degrade the league in the 
eyes of the people, had excited discord among its members, 
and had even caused many of them to be persecuted as cri- 
minals. He called upon her to recall her late ordinances, 
which deprived the Protestants of the free exercise of their 
religion, but above all to raise the siege of Valenciennes, to 
disband the troops newly enlisted, and ended by assuring her 
that on these conditions and these alone the league would be 
responsible for the general tranquillity. 

To this the regent replied in a tone, very different from 
her previous moderation. " Who these confederates are, 
who address me in this memorial, is, indeed, a mystery to 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 3 4 

&ie The confederates with whom I had formerly to do, foi 
flight I know to the contrary, have dispersed. All at least 
cannot participate in this statement of grievances, for I myself 
know of many, who, satisfied in all their demands, have 
returned to their duty. But still, whoever he may be, who 
without authority and right, and without name addresses me, 
he has at least given a very false interpretation to my word, 
if he asserts that I guaranteed to the Protestants complete 
religious liberty. No one can be ignorant how reluctantly I 
was induced to permit the preachings in the places where 
they had sprung up unauthorized, and this surely cannot be 
counted for a concession of freedom in religion. Is it likely 
that I should have entertained the idea of protecting these 
illegal consistories, of tolerating this state within a state? 
Could I forget myself so far as to grant the sanction of law 
to an objectionable sect ; to overturn all order in the church 
and in the state, and abominably to blaspheme my holy 
religion ? Look to him, who has given you such permission, 
but you must not argue with me. You accuse me of having 
violated the agreement, which gave you impunity and 
Security. The past I am willing to look over, but not what 
may be done in future. No advantage was to be taken of 
fou on account of the petition of last April, and to the best 
Df my knowledge, nothing of the kind has as yet been done ; 
but whoever again offends in the same way, against the 
majesty of the king, must be ready to bear the consequences 
of his crime. In fine, how can you presume to remind me 
of an agreement, which you have been the first to break? 
At whose instigation were the churches plundered, the images 
of the saints thrown down, and the towns hurried into rebel- 
lion ? Who formed alliances with foreign powers, set on foot 
illegal enlistments, and collected unlawful taxes from the sub- 
jects of the king ? These are the reasons which have impelled 
me to draw together my troops, and to increase the severity 
of the edicts. Whoever now asks me to lay down my arms, 
cannot mean well to his country or his king, and if ye value 
your own lives, look to it that your own actions acquit you, 
instead of judging mine." 

All the hopes which the confederates might have enter- 
tained of an amicable adjustment sank with this high-toned 
declaration. Without being confident of possessing powerful 



82 HISTORY OF THE 

support, the regent would not, they argued, employ such 
language. An army was in the field, the enemy was before 
Valenciennes, the members who were the heart of the league 
had abandoned it, and the regent required unconditional 
submission. Their cause was now so bad, that open resist- 
ance could not make it worse. If they gave themselves up 
defenceless into the hands of their exasperated sovereign, 
their fate was certain ; an appeal to arms could at least make 
it a matter of doubt ; they, therefore, chose the latter, and 
began seriously to take steps for their defence. In order to 
ensure the assistance of the German Protestants, Louis of 
Nassau attempted to persuade the towns of Amsterdam, 
Antwerp, Tournay, and Valenciennes, to adopt the confession 
of Augsburg, and in this manner to seal their alliance with 
a religious union. But the proposition was not successful, 
because the hatred of the Calvinists to the Lutherans ex- 
ceeded, if possible, that which they bore to popery. Nassau 
also began in earnest to negociate for supplies from France, 
the Palatinate, and Saxony. The Count of Bergen fortified 
his castles ; Brederode threw himself with a small force into 
his strong town of Viane on the Leek, over which he claimed 
the rights of sovereignty, and which he hastily placed in a 
state of defence, and there awaited a reinforcement from the 
league, and the issue of Nassau's negociations. The flag of 
war was now unfurled, everywhere the drum was heard to 
beat ; in all parts troops were seen on the march, contribu- 
tions collected, and soldiers enlisted. The agents of each 
party often met in the same place, and hardly had the col- 
lectors and recruiting officers of the regent quitted a town, 
when it had to endure a similar visit from the agents of the 
league. 

From Valenciennes the regent directed her attention 
to Herzogenbusch, where the Iconoclasts had lately com- 
mitted fresh excesses, and the party of the Protestants 
had gained a great accession of strength. In order to pre- 
vail on the citizens peaceably to receive a garrison, she sent 
thither, as ambassador, the chancellor Scheiff from Brabant, 
with counsellor Merode of Petersheim, whom she appointed 
governor of the town ; they were instructed to secure the 
place by judicious means, and to exact from the citizens a 
new oath of allegiance. At the same time, the Count of 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 83 

Megen, who was in the neighbourhood with a body of troops, 
was ordered to support the two envoys in effecting theil 
commission, and to afford the means of throwing in a gar 
rison immediately. But Brederode, who obtained information 
of these movements in Viane, had already sent thither one 
of his creatures, a certain Anton von Bomberg, a hot 
Calvinist, but also a brave soldier, in order to raise the 
courage of his party, and to frustrate the designs of the 
regent. This Bomberg succeeded in getting possession of 
the letters which the chancellor brought with him from the 
duchess, and contrived to substitute in their place coun- 
terfeit ones, which, by their harsh and imperious language, 
were calculated to exasperate the minds of the citizens. 
At the same time, he attempted to throw suspicion on both 
the ambassadors of the duchess, as having evil designs 
upon the town. In this he succeeded so well with the 
mob, that in their mad fury they even laid hands on the 
ambassadors, and placed them in confinement. He him- 
self at the head of 800 men, who had adopted him as 
their leader, advanced against the Count of Megen, who 
was moving in order of battle, and gave him so warm a 
reception, with some heavy artillery, that he was com- 
pelled to retire without accomplishing his object. The 
regent now sent an officer of justice to demand the release 
of her ambassadors, and in case of refusal to threaten the 
place with siege; but Bomberg with his party surrounded 
the town hall, and forced the magistrate to deliver to him 
the key of the town. The messenger of the regent was 
ridiculed and dismissed, and an answer sent through him, 
that the treatment of the prisoners would depend upon 
Brederode 's orders. The herald, who was remaining outside 
before the town, now appeared to declare war against her, 
which however the chancellor prevented. 

After his futile attempt on Herzogenbusch, the Count of 
Megen threw himself into Utrecht, in order to prevent the 
execution of a design, which Count Brederode had formed 
against that town. As it had suffered much from the army 
of the confederates, which was encamped in its immediate 
neighbourhood, near Viane, it received Megen with open 
arms as its protector, and conformed to all the alterations 
/which he made in the religious worship. Upon this, he 



34 HISTORY OF THE 

immediately caused a redoubt to be thrown up on the 
bank of the Leek, which would command Yiane. Bre- 
derode, not disposed to await his attack, quitted that ren- 
dezvous with the best part of his army and hastened to 
Amsterdam. 

However unprontably the Prince of Orange appeared to 
be losing his time in Antwerp during these operations, he was, 
nevertheless, busily employed. At his instigation the league 
had commenced recruiting, and Brederode had fortified his 
castles, for which purpose he himself presented him with 
three cannons, which he had had cast at Utrecht. His eye 
watched all the movements of the court, and he kept the 
league warned of the towns which were next menaced with 
attack. But his chief object appeared to be to get possession 
of the principal places in the districts under his own govern 
ment, to which end he, with all his power, secretly assisted 
Brederode s plans against Utrecht and Amsterdam. The 
most important place was the Island of Walcheren, where 
the king was expected to land ; and he now planned a 
scheme for the surprise of this place, the conduct of which 
was entrusted to one of the confederate nobles, an intimate 
friend of the Prince of Orange, John of Marnix, Baron 
of Thoulouse, and brother of Philip of Aldegonde. 

1567. Thoulouse maintained a secret understanding with 
the late mayor of Middleburg, Peter Haak, by which he 
expected to gain an opportunity of throwing a garrison 
into Middleburg and Flushing. The recruiting, however, 
for this undertaking, which was set on foot in Antwerp, 
could not be carried on so quietly as not to attract the 
notice of the magistrate. In order, therefore, to lull the 
suspicions of the latter, and at the same time to promote the 
success of the scheme, the prince caused the herald, by public 
proclamation, to order all foreign soldiers and strangers who 
were in the service of the state, or employed in other business, 
forthwith to quit the town. He might, say his adversaries, 
by closing the gates, have easily made himself master of all 
these suspected recruits ; but he expelled them from the 
town, in order to drive them the more quickly to the place of 
their destination. They immediately embarked on the Scheldt, 
and sailed down to Rammekens ; as, however, a market- vessel 
of Antwerp, which ran into Flushing a little before them, had 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 35 

given warning of their design, they were forbidden to enter 
the port. They found the same difficulty at Arnemuiden, 
near Middleburg, although the Protestants in that place 
exerted themselves to raise an insurrection in their favour. 
Thoulouse, therefore, without having accomplished anything, 
put about his ships, and sailed back down the Scheldt as far as 
Osterweel, a quarter of a mile from Antwerp, where he dis- 
embarked his people and encamped on the shore, with the 
hope of getting men from Antwerp; and also in order to 
revive by his presence the courage of his party, which had 
been cast down by the proceedings of the magistrate. By 
the aid of the Calvinistic clergy, who recruited for him, 
his little army increased daily, so that at last he began to 
be formidable to the Antwerpians, whose whole territory he 
laid waste. The magistrate was for attacking him here 
with the militia, which, however, the Prince of Orange 
successfully opposed, by the pretext that it would not be pru- 
dent to strip the town of soldiers. 

Meanwhile, the regent had hastily brought together a small 
army, under the command of Philip of Launoy, which moved 
from Brussels to Antwerp by forced marches. At the same 
time, Count Megen managed to keep the army of the Gueux 
shut up and employed at Viane, so that it could neither hear 
of these movements, nor hasten to the assistance of its con- 
federates. Launoy, on his arrival, attacked by surprise the 
dispersed crowds, who, little expecting an enemy, had gone 
out to plunder, and destroyed them in one terrible carnage. 
Thoulouse threw himself with the small remnant of his 
troops into a country house, which had served him as his 
head-quarters, and for a long time defended himself with the 
courage of despair, until Launoy, finding it impossible to 
dislodge him, set fire to the house. The few who escaped 
the flames, fell on the swords of the enemy, or were drowned 
in the Scheldt. Thoulouse himself preferred to perish in the 
flames, rather than to fall into the hands of the enemy. This 
victory, which swept off more than a thousand of the enemy, 
was purchased by the conqueror cheaply enough, for he did 
not lose more than two men. Three hundred of the leaguers 
who surrendered, were cut down without mercy on the spot, 
as a sally from Antwerp was momentarily dreaded. 
/ Before the battle actually commenced, no anticipation of 

D 2 



36 HISTORY OF THE 

such an event had been entertained in Antwerp. The Prince 
of Orange, who got early information of it, had taken the 
precaution, the day before, of causing the bridge which unites 
the town with Osterweel to be destroyed, in order, as he 
gave out, to prevent the Calvinists within the town going out 
to join the army of Thoulouse. A more probable motive 
seems to have been a fear lest the Catholics should attack the 
army of the Gueux general in the rear, or lest Launoy should 
prove victorious, and try to force his way into the town. On 
the same pretext, the gates of the city were also shut by 
his orders, and the inhabitants, who did not comprehend the 
meaning of all these movements, fluctuated between curiosity 
and alarm, until the sound of artillery from Osterweel 
announced to them what there was going on. In clamorous 
crowds they all ran to the walls and ramparts, from which, as 
the wind drove the smoke from the contending armies, they 
commanded a full view of the whole battle. Both armies 
were so near to the town that they could discern their 
banners, and clearly distinguish the voices of the victors and 
the vanquished. More terrible even than the battle itself 
was the spectacle which this town now presented. Each of 
the conflicting armies had its friends and its enemies on the 
wall. All that went on in the plain, roused on the ramparts 
exultation or dismay ; on the issue of the conflict the fate of 
each spectator seemed to depend. Every movement on the 
field could be read in the faces of the townsmen ; defeat 
and triumph, the terror of the conquered, and the fury 
of the conqueror. Here a painful but idle wish to support 
those who are giving way, to rally those who fly ; there an 
equally futile desire to overtake them, to slay them, to extir- 
pate them. Now the Gueux fly, and ten thousand men 
rejoice ; Thoulouse's last place and refuge is in flames, and 
the hopes of twenty thousand citizens are consumed with 
him. 

But the first bewilderment of alarm soon gave place to 
a frantic desire of revenge. Shrieking aloud, wringing 
her hands and with dishevelled hair, the widow of the 
slain general rushed amidst the crowds to implore their pity 
and help. Excited by their favourite preacher, Hermann, 
the Calvinists fly to arms, determined to avenge their 
brethren, or to perish with them ; without reflection, without 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 37 

plan or leader, guided by nothing but their anguish, their 
delirium, they rush to the Eed Gate of the city, which leads 
to the field of battle ; but there, is no egress, the gate is shut, 
and the foremost of the crowd recoil on those that follow. 
Thousands and thousands collect together, a dreadful rush is 
made to the Meer Bridge. We are betrayed ! we are prison 
ers ! is the general cry. Destruction to the Papists, death 
to him who has betrayed us ! — a sullen murmur, portentous of 
a revolt, runs through the multitude. They begin to suspect, 
that all that has taken place has been set on foot by the 
Roman Catholics, to destroy the Calvinists. They had slain 
their defenders, and they would now fall upon the defenceless. 
With fatal speed this suspicion spreads through the whole of 
Antwerp. Now they can, they think, understand the past, 
and they fear something still worse in the back ground ; a 
frightful distrust gains possession of every mind. Each party 
dreads the other ; every one sees an enemy in his neighbour ; 
the mystery deepens the alarm and horror; a fearful condi- 
tion for a populous town, in which every accidental concourse . 
instantly becomes tumult, every rumour started amongst them 
becomes a fact, every small spark a blazing flame, and by the 
force of numbers and collision all passions are furiously 
inflamed. All who bore the name of Calvinists were roused 
by this report. Fifteen thousand of them take possession of 
the Meer bridge, and plant heavy artillery upon it, which 
they had taken by force from the arsenal ; the same thing 
also happens at another bridge ; their number makes them 
formidable, the town is in their hands ; to escape an imagin 
ary danger, they bring all Antwerp to the brink of ruin. 

Immediately on the commencement of the tumult, the 
Prince of Orange hastened to the Meer Bridge, where, boldly 
forcing his way through the raging crowd, he commanded 
peace, and entreated to be heard. At the other bridge, 
Count Hogstraten, accompanied by the Burgomaster Strahlen, 
made the same attempt ; but not possessing a sufficient share 
either of eloquence or of popularity to command attention, 
he referred the tumultuous crowd to the prince, around whom 
all Antwerp now furiously thronged. The gate, he endea- 
voured to explain to them, was shut simply to keep off the 
victor, whoever he might be, from the city, which would other 
toi&e become the prey of an infuriated soldiery. In vain I 



38 HISTOSY OF THE 

the frantic people would not listen, and one more daring than 
the rest presented his musket at him, calling him a traitor. 
With tumultuous shouts, they demanded the key of the Red 
Gate, which he was ultimately forced to deliver into the hands 
of the preacher Hermann. But, he added with happy pre- 
sence of mind, they must take heed what they were doing ; in 
the suburbs, 600 of the enemy's horse were waiting to receive 
them. This invention, suggested by the emergency, was rot 
so far removed from the truth as its author perhaps imagined ; 
for no sooner had the victorious general perceived the com- 
motion in Antwerp, than he caused his whole cavalry to mount, 
in the hope of being able, under favour of the disturbance, 
to break into the town. I, at least, continued the Frince 
of Orange, shall secure my own safety in time, and he who 
follows my example will save himself much future regret. 
These words, opportunely spoken and immediately acted 
upon, had their effect. Those who stood nearest, followed 
him, and were again followed by the next, so that at last 
the few who had already hastened out of the city, when they 
saw no one coming after them, lost the desire of coping 
alone with the six hundred horse. All accordingly returned 
to the Meer Bridge, where they posted watches and videttes, 
and the night was passed tumultuously under arms. 

The town of Antwerp was now threatened with fearfu 1 
bloodshed and pillage. In this pressing emergency, Orange 
assembled an extraordinary senate, to which were summoned 
all the best disposed citizens of the four nations. If they 
wished, said he, to repress the violence of the Calvinists, they 
must oppose them with an army strong enough and prepared 
to meet them. It was therefore resolved to arm with speed 
the Roman-Catholic inhabitants of the town, whether natives, 
Italians, or Spaniards, and, if possible, to induce the Lutherans 
also to join them. The haughtiness of the Calvinists, who, 
proud of their wealth and confident in their numbers, treated 
every other religious party with contempt, had long made the 
Lutherans their enemies, and the mutual exasperation of these 
two Protestant churches was even more implacable than their 
common hatred of the dominant church. This jealousy tho 
magistrate had turned to advantage, by making use of one 
party to curb the other, and had thus contrived to keep the 
Calvinists in check, who, from their numbers and insolence, 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 39 

were most to be feared. With this view, he had tacitly taken into 
his protection the Lutherans, as the weaker and more peaceable 
party, having moreover invited for them, from Germany, spirit- 
ual teachers, who, by controversial sermons, might keep up the 
mutual hatred of the two bodies. He encouraged the Lutherans 
in the vain idea, that the king thought more favourably of their 
religious creed than of that of the Calvinists, and exhorted 
them to be careful how they damaged their good cause, by any 
understanding with the latter. It was not, therefore, difficult 
to bring about, for the moment, a union with the Eoman Ca- 
tholics and the Lutherans, as its object was to keep down their 
detested rivals. At dawn of day, an army was opposed to the 
Calvinists, which was far superior in force to their own. At the 
head of this army, the eloquence of Orange had far greater ef- 
fect, and found far more attention than on the preceding evening, 
unbacked by such strong persuasion. The Calvinists, though 
in possession of arms and artillery, yet alarmed at the supe- 
rior numbers arrayed against them, were the first to send en- 
voys, aud to treat for an amicable adjustment of differences, 
which by the tact and good temper of the Prince of Orange, he 
concluded to the satisfaction of all parties. On the proclama- 
tion of this treaty, the Spaniards and Italians immediately 
laid down their arms. They were followed by the Calvinists, 
and these again by the Eoman Catholics ; last of all, the 
Lutherans disarmed. 

Two days and two nights Antwerp had continued in this 
alarming state. During the tumult, the Eoman Catholics had 
succeeded in placing barrels of gunpowder under the Meer 
Bridge, and threatened to blow into the air the whole army of 
the Calvinists, who had done the same in other places to de- 
stroy their adversaries. The destruction of the town hung on 
the issue of a moment, and nothing but the prince's pre- 
sence of mind saved it. 

Noircarmes with his army of Walloons still lay before 
Valenciennes, which, in firm reliance on being relieved 
by the Gueux, obstinately refused to listen to all the repre 
sentations of the regent, and rejected every idea of surrender. 
An order of the court had expressly forbidden the royalist 
general to press the siege, until he should receive reinforce- 
ments from Germany. Whether from forbearance or fear, 
/the king regarded with abhorrence the violent measure of storm- 



4'J HISTORY OF THE 

ing the place, as necessarily involving the innocent in the fate 
of the guilty, and exposing the loyal suhject to the same ill- 
treatment as the rebel. As, however, the confidence of the 
besieged augmented daily, and emboldened by the inactivity 
of the besiegers, they annoyed him by frequent sallies, and 
after burning the cloisters before the town, retired with the 
plunder — as the time uselessly lost before this town was put to 
good use by the rebels and their allies, Noircarmes besought 
the duchess to obtain immediate permission from the king 
to take it by storm. The answer arrived more quickly than 
Philip was ever before wont to reply. As yet they must 
be content, simply to make the necessary preparations, 
and then to wait awhile to allow terror to have its effect; 
but if, upon this, they did not appear ready to capitulate, 
the storming might take place, but, at the same time, with 
the greatest possible regard for the lives of the inhabitants 
Before the regent allowed Noircarmes to proceed to this ex 
tremity, she empowered Count Egmont, with the Duke of 
Arschot, to treat once more with the rebels amicably. Both 
conferred with the deputies of the town, and omitted no argu 
ment calculated to dispel their delusion. They acquainted them 
with the defeat of Thoulouse, their sole support, and with 
the fact that the Count of Megen had cut off the army of the 
Gueux from the town, and assured them that if they had held 
out so long, they owed it entirely to the king's forbearance 
They offered them full pardon for the past ; every one was to be 
free to prove his innocence before whatever tribunal he should 
choose ; such as did not wish to avail themselves of this pri- 
vilege were to be allowed fourteen days to quit the town with 
all their effects. Nothing was required of the townspeople 
but the admission of the garrison. To give time to deliberate 
on these terms, an armistice of three days was granted. 
When the deputies returned, they found their fellow 
citizens less disposed than ever to an accommodation, re- 
ports of new levies by the Gueux having, in the mean time, 
gained currency. Thoulouse, it was pretended, had con- 
quered, and was advancing with a powerful army to relieve 
the place. Their confidence went so far, that they even ven 
tured to break the armistice, and to fire upon the besiegers. 
At last, the burgomaster with difficulty succeeded in bringing 
matters so far towards a peaceful settlement, that twelve of the 



/ 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 4} 

fc>wu counsellors were sent into the camp with the following 
conditions. The edict, by which Valenciennes had been 
charged with treason, and declared an enemy to the country, 
was required to be recalled, the confiscation of their goods 
revoked, and the prisoners on both sides restored to liberty, 
the garrison was not to enter the town, before every one, who 
thought good to do so, had placed himself and his property in 
security ; and a pledge to be given, that the inhabitants should 
not be molested in any manner, and that their expenses 
should be paid by the king. 

Noircarmes was so indignant with these conditions, that he 
was almost on the point of ill treating the deputies. If they 
had not come, he told them, to give up the place, they might 
return forthwith, lest he should send them home, with their 
hands tied behind their backs. Upon this, the deputies threw 
the blame on the obstinacy of the Calvinists, and entreated 
him with tears in their eyes to keep them in the camp, as 
they did not, they said, wish to have anything more to do 
with their rebellious townsmen, or to be joined in their fate. 
They even knelt to beseech the intercession of Egmont, but 
Noircarmes remained deaf to all their entreaties, and the sight 
of the chains which he ordered to be brought out, drove them 
reluctantly enough back to Valenciennes. Necessity, not se- 
verity, imposed this harsh procedure upon the general. The 
detention of ambassadors had, on a former occasion, drawn 
upon him the reprimand of the duchess ; the people in the 
town would not have failed to have ascribed the non-appear- 
ance of their present deputies to the same cause as in the 
former case had detained them. Besides, he was loathe to de- 
prive the town of any out of the small residue of well disposed 
citizens, or to leave it a prey to a blind, foolhardy mob. 
Egmont was so mortified at the bad result of his embassy, 
that he, the night following, rode round to reconnoitre its 
fortifications, and returned well satisfied to have convinced 
himself that it was no longer tenable. 

Valenciennes stretches down a gentle acclivity into the 
level plain, being built on a site as strong as it is delightful. 
On one side enclosed by the Scheldt and another smaller river, 
and on the other protected by deep ditches, thick walls, and 
towers, it appears capable of defying every attack. But Noir- 
carmes had discovered a few points where neglect had allowed 



42 HISTORY OF THE 

the fosse to be filled almost up to the level of the natural sur- 
face, and of these he determined to avail himself in storming. 
He drew together all the scattered corps, by which he had 
invested the town, and during a tempestuous night carried the 
suburb of Berg, without the loss of a single man. He then 
assigned separate points of attack to the Count of Bossu, 
the young Charles of Mansfeld, and the younger Barlaimont, 
and under a terrible fire which drove the enemy from his 
walls, his troops were moved up with all possible speed. 
Close before the town, and opposite the gate, under the eyes 
of the besiegers, and with very little loss, a battery was thrown 
up to an equal height with the fortifications. From this point, 
the town was bombarded with an unceasing fire for four hours. 
The Nicolaus tower, on which the besieged had planted some 
artillery, was among the first that fell, and many perished 
under its ruins. The guns were directed against all the most 
conspicuous buildings, and a terrible slaughter was made 
amongst the inhabitants. In a few hours, their principal 
works were destroyed, and in the gate itself so extensive a 
breach was made, that the besieged despairing of any longer 
defending themselves, sent in haste two trumpeters to en- 
treat a parley. This was granted, but the storm was con 
tinued without intermission. The ambassador entreated 
Noircarmes to grant them the same terms, which only two 
days before they had rejected. But circumstances had now 
changed, and the victor would hear no more of conditions. 
The unceasing fire left the inhabitants no time to repair the 
ramparts, which filled the fosse with their debris, and opened 
many a breach for the enemy to enter by. Certain of utter 
destruction, they surrendered next morning at discretion, 
after a bombardment of six-and-thirty hours without intermis- 
sion, and three thousand bombs had been thrown into the city. 
Noircarmes marched into the town with his victorious army 
under the strictest discipline, and was received by a crowd of 
women and children, who went to meet him, carrying green 
boughs, and beseeching his pity. All the citizens were im- 
mediately disarmed, the commandant and his son beheaded ; 
thirty- six of the most guilty of the rebels, among whom were 
La Grange and another Calvinistic preacher, Guido de Bresse, 
atoned for their obstinacy at the gallows ; all the municipal 
functionaries were deprived oi their offices, and the town of ail 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. &% 

its privileges. The Roman Catholic worship was imme- 
diately restored in full dignity, and the Protestant abolished. 
The Bishop of Arras was obliged to quit his residence in the 
town, and a strong garrison placed in it to ensure its future 
obedience. 

The fate of Valeuciennes, towards which all eyes had 
been turned, was a warning to the other towns which had 
similarly offended. Noircarmes followed up his victory, and 
marched immediately against Maestricht, which surrendered 
without a blow, and received a garrison. From thence he 
marched to Tornhut, to awe, by his presence, the people of 
Herzogenbusch and Antwerp. The Gueux in this place, 
who, under the command of Bomberg, had carried all things 
before them, were now so terrified at his approach that they 
quitted the town in haste. Noircarmes was received without 
opposition. The ambassadors of the duchess were immediately 
set at liberty. A strong garrison was thrown into Tornhut ; 
Cambray also opened its gates, and joyfully recalled its arch- 
bishop, whom the Calvinists had driven from his see, and 
who deserved this triumph, as he did not stain his entrance 
with blood. Ghent, Ypres, and Oudenarde submitted and 
received garrisons. Gueldres was now almost entirely 
cleared of the rebels, and reduced to obedience by the Count 
of Megen. In Friesland and Groningen, the Count of 
Aremberg had eventually the same success ; but it was not 
obtained here so rapidly or so easily, since the count wanted 
consistency and firmness, and these warlike republicans 
maintained more pertinaciously their privileges, and were 
greatly supported by the strength of their position. With 
the exception of Holland, all the provinces had yielded before 
the victorious arms of the duchess. The courage of the dis- 
affected sunk entirely, and nothing was left to them but flight 
or submission. 



RESIGNATION OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE. 

Ever since the establishment of the Geusen League, but 
more perceptibly since the outbreak of the Iconoclasts, the 
spirit of rebellion and disaffection had spread so rapidly 
among all classes ; parties had become so blended and con- 



44 HTSTOEY OF THE 

fused, that the regent had difficulty in distinguishing her 
own adherents, and at last hardly knew on whom to rely. 
The lines of demarcation between the loyal and the dis- 
affected had grown gradually fainter, until at last they 
almost entirely vanished. The frequent alterations, too, 
which she had been obliged to make in the laws, and which 
were at most the expedients and suggestions of the moment, 
had taken from them their precision and binding force, 
and had given full scope to the arbitrary will of every 
individual, whose office it was to interpret them. And at 
last, amidst the number and variety of the interpreta- 
tions, the spirit was lo£\,, and the intention of the law- 
giver baffled. The close connexion, which in many cases 
subsisted between Protestants and Roman Catholics, between 
Gueux and Royalists, and which not unfrequently gave 
them a common interest, led the latter to avail themselves of 
the loophole, which the vagueness of the laws left open, and 
in favour of their Protestant friends and associates, evaded, 
by subtle distinctions, all severity in the discharge of their 
duties In their minds, it was enough not to be a declared 
rebel, not one of the Gueux, or at least not a heretic, to be 
authorized to mould their duties to their inclinations, and to 
set the most arbitrary limits to their obedience to the king. 
Feeling themselves irresponsible, the governors of the pro- 
vinces, the civil functionaries, both high and low, the munici- 
pal officers, and the military commanders had all become 
extremely remiss in their duty, and presuming upon this 
impunity, showed a pernicious indulgence to the rebels and 
their adherents, which rendered abortive all the regent's mea- 
sures of coercion. This general indifference and corruption 
of so many servants of the state had further this injurious 
result, that it led the turbulent to reckon on far stronger 
support, than in reality they had cause for, and to count on 
their own side all who were but lukewarm adherents of the 
court. This way of thinking, erroneous as it was, gave them 
greater courage and confidence, it had the same effect as if it 
had been well founded ; and the uncertain vassals of the king 
became in consequence almost as injurious to him, as his 
declared enemies, without at the same time being liable 
to the same measures of severity. This was especially the 
case with the Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont, Bergon, 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 45 

Hogstraten, Horn, and several others of the higher no- 
bility. The regent felt the necessity of bringing these 
doubtful subjects to an explanation, in order either to deprive 
the rebels of a fancied support, or to unmask tne enemies of 
the king. And the latter reason was of the more urgent mo • 
ment, when being obliged to send an army into the field, it 
was of the utmost importance to entrust the command of the 
troops to none but those of whose fidelity she was fully assured. 
She caused, therefore, an oath to be drawn up, which bound 
all who took it to advance the Roman Catholic faith, to pur- 
sue and punish the Iconoclasts, and to help by every means 
in their power in extirpating all kinds of heresy. It also 
pledged them to treat the king's enemies as their own, and 
to serve, without distinction, against all whom the regent, in 
the kings name, should point out. By this oath, she did not 
hope so much to test their sincerity, and still less to secure 
them, as rather to gain a pretext for removing the sus- 
pected parties if they declined to take it, and for wrest- 
ing from their hands a power which they abused, or a 
legitimate ground for punishing them, if they took it and 
broke it. This oath was exacted by the court from all 
Knights of the Fleece, all civil functionaries and magistrates, 
all officers of the army — from every one in short who held 
any appointment in the state. Count Mansfeld was the 
first who publicly took it in the Council of State at Brus 
sels; his example was followed by the Duke of Arsckot, 
Counts Egmont, Megen, and Barlaimont. Hogstraten and 
Horn endeavoured to evade the necessity. The former was 
offended at a proof of distrust which shortly before the regent 
had given him. Under the pretext that Malines could not 
safely be left any longer without its governor, but that the 
presence of the count was no less necessary in Antwerp, she 
had taken from him that province, and given it to another, 
whose fidelity she could better reckon upon. Hogstraten 
expressed his thanks that she had been pleased to release 
him from one of his burdens, adding that she would complete 
the obligation, if she would relieve him of the other also. 
True to his determination, Count Horn was living on one of 
his estates in the strong town of Weerdt, having retired alto- 
gether from public affairs. Having quitted the service of the 
state, he owed, he thought, nothing more either to the re 



4-6 HISTORY OF THS 

public or to the king, and declined the oath, which in his case 
appears at last to have been waved. 

The Count of Brederode was left the choice of either tak- 
ing the prescribed oath, or resigning the command of his 
squadron of cavalry. After many fruitless attempts to evade 
the alternative, on the plea that he did not hold office in the 
state, he at last resolved upon the latter course, and thereby 
escaped all risk of perjuring himself. 

Vain were all the attempts to prevail on tne Prince of 
Orange to take the oath, who, from the suspicion which 
had long attached to him, required more than any other this 
purification ; and from whom the great power, which it had 
been necessary to place in his hands, fully justified the 
regent in exacting it. It was not, however, advisable to pro- 
ceed against him with the laconic; brevity adopted towards 
Brederode and the like; on the other hand, the voluntary 
resignation of all his offices, whien he tendered, did not meet 
the object of the regent, who foresaw clearly enough how 
really dangerous he would become, as soon as he should feel 
himself independent, and be no longer checked by any ex- 
ternal considerations of character or duty, in the prosecution 
of his secret designs. But ever since the consultation in 
Dendermonde, the Prince of Orange had made up his mind 
to quit the service of the King of Spain on the first favour- 
able opportunity, and till better days to leave the country 
itself. A very disheartening experience had taught him 
how uncertain are hopes built on the multitude, and how 
quickly their zeal is cooled by the necessity of fulfilling its 
ofty promises. An army was already in the field, and a 
far stronger one w r as, he knew, on its road, under the 
command of the Duke of Alva. The time for remonstrances 
was past, it was only at the head of an army that an advan- 
tageous treaty could now be concluded with the regent, and 
by preventing the entrance of the Spanish general. But now 
where was he to raise this army, in want as he was of 
money, the sinews of warfare, since the Protestants had re- 
tracted their boastful promises, and deserted him in this 
pressing emergency * ? Keligious jealousy and hatred, rnore- 

* How valiant the wish, and how sorry the deed was, is proved by the 
following instance amongst others. Some friends of the national liberty 



KEVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 4T 

aver, separated the two Protestant churches, and stood in the 
way of every salutary combination against the common enemy 
of their faith. The rejection of the confession of Augsburg 
by the Calvinists had exasperated all the Protestant princes 
of Germany, so that no support was to be looked for from the 
empire. With Count Egmont, the excellent army of Walloons 
was also lost to the cause — for they followed with blind de- 
votion the fortunes of their general, who had taught them at 
St. Quentin and Gravelines to be invincible. And again, 
the outrages which the Iconoclasts had perpetrated on the 
churches and convents, had estranged from the league the 
numerous, wealthy, and powerful class of the established 
. clergy, who, before this unlucky episode, were already more 
than half gained over to it ; while, by her intrigues, the 
regent daily contrived to deprive the league itself of some 
one or other of its most influential members. 

All these considerations combined, induced the prince to 
postpone to a more favourable season a project for which the 
present juncture was little suited, and to leave a country where 
his longer stay could not effect any advantage for it, but must 
bring certain destruction on himself. After intelligence gleaned 
from so many quarters, after so many proofs of distrust, so 
many warnings from Madrid, he could be no longer doubtful 
of the sentiments of Philip towards him. If even he had 
any doubt, his uncertainty would soon have been dispelled 
by the formidable armament which was preparing in Spain, 
and which was to have for its leader, not the king, as was 
falsely given out, but, as he was better informed, the Duke of 
Alva, his personal enemy, and the very man he had most 
cause to fear. The prince had seen too deeply into Philip's 
heart to believe in the sincerity of his reconciliation, after 
having once awakened his fears. He judged his own con- 
duct too justly to reckon, like his friend Egmont, on reap- 

Roman Catholics as well as Protestants, had solemnly engaged in Amster- 
dam to subscribe to a common fund the hundredth penny of their estates, 
until a sum of 11,000 florins should be collected, which was to be devoted 
to the common cause and interests. An alms box, protected by three locks, 
was prepared for the reception of these contributions. After the expiration 
of the prescribed period it was opened ; and a sum was found amounting 
to 700 florins, which was given to the hostess of the Count of Brederode, in 
part payment of his unliquidated score. Univ. Hist, of the N. YoL 3, 



48 HISTORY OF THU 

ing a gratitude from the king to which he had not sown. Hg 
could, therefore, expect nothing but hostility from him, and 
prudence counselled him to screen himself by a timely flight 
from its actual outbreak. He had hitherto obstinately refused 
to take the new oath ; and all the written exhortations of the 
regent had been fruitless. At last she sent to him at Antwerp 
her private secretary Berti, who was to put the matter em 
phatically to his conscience, and forcibly remind him of all 
the evil consequences which so sudden a retirement from the 
royal service would draw upon the country, as well as the 
irreparable injury it would do to his own fair fame. Already, 
she informed him by her ambassador, his declining the re- 
quired oath had cast a shade upon his honour, and imparted 
to the general voice, which accused him of an understanding 
with the rebels, an appearance of truth which this uncondi- 
tional resignation would convert to absolute certainty. It was 
for the sovereign to discharge his servants, but it did not be- 
come the servant to abandon his sovereign. The envoy of 
the regent found the prince in his palace at Antwerp, already, 
as it appeared, withdrawn from the public service, and entirely 
devoted to his private concerns. The prince told him, in the 
presence of Hogstraten, that he had refused to take the re- 
quired oath, because he could not find that such a proposition 
had ever before been made to a governor of a province ; be- 
cause he had already bound himself, once for all, to the king, 
and therefore, by taking this new oath, he would tacitly ac- 
knowledge that he had broken the first. He had also refused, 
because the old oath enjoined him to protect the rights and 
privileges of the country, but he could not tell whether this 
new one might not impose upon him duties which would con- 
travene the first ; because, too, the clause which bound him to 
serve, if required, against all without distinction, did not ex- 
cept even the Emperor, his feudal lord, against whom, how- 
ever, he, as his vassal, could not conscientiously make war. 
He had refused to take this oath, because it might impose 
upon him the necessity of surrendering his friends and re- 
lations, his children, nay, even his wife, who was a Lu- 
theran, to butchery. According to it, moreover, he must lend 
himself to every thing which it should occur to the king's 
fancy or passion to demand ; but the king might thus exact 
from him things which he shuddered even to think of; and 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 49 

even the severities which were now, and had been all along 
exercised upon the Protestants, were the most revolting to his 
heart. This oath, in short, was repugnant to his feelings as a 
man, and he could not take it. In conclusion, the name of 
the Duke of Alva dropped from his lips, in a tone of bitter- 
ness, and he became immediately silent. 

All these objections were answered, point by point, by Berti. 
Certainly such an oath had never been required from a go- 
vernor before him, because the provinces had never been 
similarly circumstanced. It was not exacted because the 
governors had broken the first, but in order to remind them 
vividly of their former vows, and to freshen their activity in 
the present emergency. This oath would not impose upon 
him any thing which offended against the rights and privi- 
leges of the country, for the king had sworn to observe 
these, as well as the Prince of Orange. The oath did 
not, it was true, contain any reference to a war with the 
Emperor, or any other sovereign to whom the prince might 
be related; and if he really had scruples on this point, 
a distinct clause could easily be inserted, expressly providing 
against such a contingency. Care would be taken to spare 
him any duties which were repugnant to his feelings as a 
man, and no power on earth would compel him to act against 
his wife or against his children. Berti was then passing to 
the last point, which related to the Duke of Alva, but the 
prince, who did not wish to have this part of his discourse 
canvassed, interrupted him. " The king was coming to the 
Netherlands," he said, " and he knew the king. The king 
would not endure that one of his servants should have wedded 
a Lutheran, and he had, therefore, resolved to go with his 
whole family into voluntary banishment, before he was obliged 
to submit to the same by compulsion. But," he concluded, 
" wherever he might be, he would always conduct himself 
as a subject of the king." Thus far-fetched were the motives 
which the prince adduced, to avoid touching upon the single 
one which really decided him. 

Berti had still a hope of obtaining, through Egmont's elc* 
quence, what by his own he despaired of effecting. He there- 
fore proposed a meeting with the latter (1567), which the 
prince assented to the more willingly, as he himself felt a 
desire to embrace his friend once more before his departure 



50 HISTORY OF THE 

and if possible, to snatch the deluded man from certain de- 
struction. This remarkable meeting, at which the private se 
cretary Berti, and the young Count Mansfeld, were also pre- 
sent, was the last that the two friends ever held, and took place 
in Villebroeck, a village on the Rupel, between Brussels and 
Antwerp. The Calvinists, whose last hope rested on the 
issue of this conference, found means to acquaint themselves 
of its import by a spy, who concealed himself in the chimney 
of the apartment where it was held. All three attempted to 
shake the determination of the prince, but their united elo- 
quence was unable to move him from his purpose. " It will 
cost you your estates, Orange, if you persist in this inten- 
tion," said the Prince of Gaure, as he took him aside to a 
window. " And you your life, Egmont, if you change not 
yours," replied the former. ''To me it will at least be a 
consolation in my misfortunes, that I desired, in deed as well 
as in word, to help my country and my fiiends in the hour of 
need ; but you, my friend, you are dragging friends and coun- 
try with you to destruction." And saying these words, he 
once again exhorted him, still more urgently than ever, to 
return to the cause of his country, which his arm alone was 
yet able to preserve ; if not, at least, for his own sake, to avoid 
the tempest which was gathering against him from Spain 

But all the arguments, however lucid, with which a far 
discerning prudence supplied him, and however urgently en- 
forced, with all the ardour and animation which the tender 
anxiety of friendship could alone inspire, did not avail to 
destroy the fatal confidence which still fettered Egmont's 
better reason. The warning of Orange seemed to come from 
a sad and dispirited heart ; but for Egmont the world still 
smiled. To abandon the pomp and affluence in which he had 
grown up to youth and manhood; to part with all the 
thousand conveniences of life which alone made it valuable 
to him, and all this to escape an evil which his buoyant spirit 
regarded as remote, if not imaginary; no, that was not a 
sacrifice which could be asked from Egmont. But had he 
even been less given to indulgence than he was, with what 
heart could he have consigned a princess accustomed by un- 
interrupted prosperity to ease and comfort, a wife who loved 
him as dearly as she was beloved, the children on whom his 
soul hung in hope and fondness, to privations at the prospect 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 51 

of which his own courage sank, and which a sublime philosophy 
alone can enable sensuality to undergo. "You will never 
persuade me, Orange," said Egmont, " to see things in the 
gloomy light in which they appear to thy mournful prudence. 
When I have succeeded in abolishing the public preachings, . 
and chastising the Iconoclasts, in crushing the rebels, and re- 
storing peace and order in the provinces, what can the king 
lay to my charge? The king is good and just; I have claims 
upon his gratitude, and I must not forget what I owe to my- 
self." "Well, then," cried Orange indignantly, and with bit- 
ter anguish, " trust, if you will, to this royal gratitude ! bat s 
mournful presentiment tells me — and may Heaven grant that 
I am deceived ! — that you, Egmont, will be the bridge by 
which the Spaniards will pass into our country to destroy it." 
After these words, he drew him to his bosom, ardently clasp- 
ing him in his arms. Long, as though the sight was to serve 
for the remainder of his life, did he keep his eyes fixed upon 
him ; the tears fell ; they saw each other no more. 

The very next day, the Prince of Orange wrote his letter of 
resignation to the regent, in which he assured her of his per- 
petual esteem, and once again entreated her to put the best in- 
terpretation on his present step. He then set off, with his 
three brothers, and his whole family, for his own town of Breda, 
where he remained only as long as was requisite to arrange 
some private affairs. His eldest son, Prince Philip William, 
was left behind at the University of Louvain, where he thought 
him sufficiently secure under the protection of the privileges of 
Brabant, and the immunities of the academy ; an imprudence 
which, if it was really not designed, can hardly be recon- 
ciled with the just estimate which, in so many other cases, he 
had taken of the character of his adversary. In Breda, the 
heads of the Calvimsts once more consulted him whether there 
was still hope for them, or whether all was irretrievably lost. 
" He had before advised them," replied the prince, " and must 
now do so again, to accede to the Confession of Augsburg ; 
then they might rely upon aid from Germany. If they would 
still not consent to this, they must raise 600,000 florins, or 
more, if they could." ''The first," they answered, "was at 
variance with their conviction and their conscience; but 
means might perhaps be found to raise the money, if he 
would only let them know for what purpose he wouid use it. 

e 2 



52 HISTOKY OF THE 

<4 No !" cried he, with the utmost displeasure, " if I must tell 
you that, it is all over with the use of it." With these words 
he immediately broke off the conference, and dismissed the 
deputies. 

The Prince of Orange was reproached with having squan- 
dered his fortune, and with favouring the innovations on ac- 
count of his debts ; but he asserted that he still enjoyed 60,000 
florins yearly rental. Before his departure, he borrowed 
20,000 florins from the states of Holland, on the mortgage 
of some manors. Men could hardly persuade themselves that 
he would have succumbed to necessity so entirely, and with- 
out an effort at resistance, given up all his hopes and schemes. 
But what he secretly meditated no one knew, no one had 
read in his heart. Being asked how he intended to conduct 
himself towards the King of Spain. " Quietly," was his 
answer, " unless he touches my honour or my estates." He 
left the Netherlands soon afterwards, and betook himself in 
retirement to the town of Dillenburg in Nassau, at which 
place he was born. He was accompanied to Germany by 
many hundreds, either as his servants or as volunteers, and 
was soon followed by Counts Hogstraten, Kuilemberg, and 
Bergen, who preferred to share a voluntary exile with him, 
rather than recklessly involve themselves in an uncertain des- 
tiny. In his departure the nation saw the flight of its guard- 
ian angel ; many had adored, all had honoured him. "With him 
the last stay of the Protestants gave way ; they, however, had 
greater hopes from this man in exile, than from all the others 
together who remained behind. Even the Roman Catholics 
could not witness his departure without regret. Them also 
had he shielded from tyranny ; he had not unfrequently pro- 
tected them against the oppression of their own church, and he 
had rescued many of them from the sanguinary jealousy of 
their religious opponents. A few fanatics among the Calvin- 
ists, who were offended with his proposal of an alliance with 
their brethren, who avowed the Confession of Augsburg, 
solemnized with secret thanksgivings the day on which the 
enemy left them. 1567 



■REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 53 



DECAY AND DISPERSION OF THE GEUSEN LEAGUE. 

Immediately after taking leave of his friend, the Prince 
of Gaure hastened back to Brussels, to receive from the 
regent the reward of his firmness, and there in the ex- 
citement of the court, and in the sunshine of his good fortune, 
to dispel the light cloud which the earnest warnings of the 
Prince of Orange had cast over his na/tural gaiety. The 
flight of the latter now left him in possession of the stage. 
He had now no longer any rival in the republic to dim his 
glory. With redoubled zeal he wooed the transient favour of 
the court, above which he ought to have felt himself far ex- 
alted. All Brussels must participate in his joy. He gave 
splendid banquets and public entertainments, at which, the 
better to eradicate all suspicion from his mind, the regent 
herself frequently attended. Not content with having taken 
the required oath, he outstripped the most devout in devo- 
tion ; outran the most zealous in zeal to extirpate the Pro- 
testant faith, and to reduce by force of arms the refractory 
towns of Flanders. He declared to his old friend, Count 
Hogstraten, as also to the rest of the Gueux, that he 
would withdraw from them his friendship for ever, if they 
hesitated any longer to return into the bosom of the church, 
and reconcile themselves with their king. All the confiden 
tial letters which had been exchanged between him and them 
were returned, and by this last step, the breach, between them 
was made public and irreparable. Egmont's secession, and 
the flight of the Prince of Orange, destroyed the last hope of 
the Protestants and dissolved the whole league of the Gueux 
Its members vied with each other in readiness — nay, they 
could not soon enough abjure the covenant and take the new 
oath proposed to them by the government. In vain did the 
Protestant merchants exclaim at this breach of faith on the 
part of the nobles ; their weak voice was no longer listened 
to, and all the sums were lost with which they had sup- 
plied the league. 

The most important places were quickly reduced and gar- 
risoned ; the rebels had fled, or perished by the hand of the 
executioner ; in the provinces no protector was left. All 
yielded to the fortune of the regent, and her victorious army 



54 HISTORY OF THE 

was advancing against Antwerp. After a "Jong and obstinate 
contest, this town had been cleared of the worst leueis ; Her- 
mann and his adherents took to flight ; tfre internal storms 
had spent their rage. The minds of the people became gra- 
dually composed, and, no longer excited at will by every fu- 
rious fanatic, began to listen to better counsels. The weal- 
thier citizens earnestly longed for peace, to revive commerce 
and trade, which had suffered severely from the long reign of 
anarchy. The dread of Alva's approach worked wonders ; in 
order to prevent the miseries, which a Spanish army would 
inflict upon the country, the people hastened to throw them- 
selves on the gentler mercies of the regent. Of their own 
accord they despatched plenipotentiaries to Brussels, to nego- 
ciate for a treaty and to hear her terms. Agreeably as the 
regent was surprised by this voluntary step, she did not allow 
herself to be hurried away by her joy. She declared that she 
neither could nor would listen to any overtures or representa- 
tions until the town had received a garrison. Even this 
was no longer opposed, and Count Mansfeld marched in, 
the day after, with sixteen squadrons in battle array. A so- 
lemn treaty was now made between the town and duchess, by 
which the former bound itself to prohibit the Calvinistic form 
of worship, to banish all preachers of that persuasion, to re- 
store the Roman Catholic religion to its former dignity, to 
decorate the despoiled churches with their former ornaments, 
to administer the old edicts as before, to take the new oath 
which the other towns had sworn to, and lastly to deliver into 
the hands of justice all who had been guilty of treason, in 
bearing arms, or taking part in the desecration of the 
churches. On the other hand, the regent pledged herself to 
forget all that had passed, and even to intercede for the of- 
fenders with the king. All those, who being dubious of obtain- 
ing pardon preferred bannishment, were to be allowed a month 
to convert their property into money, and place themselves in 
safety. From this grace, none were to be excluded but such 
as had been guilty of a capital offence, and who were excepted 
by the previous article. Immediately upon the conclusion of 
this treaty, all Calvinist and Lutheran preachers in Antwerp, 
and the adjoining territory, were warned by the herald to quit 
the country within twenty-four hours. All the streets and gates 
were now thronged with fugitives, who for the honour of their 



REVOLT OF THE NETHEKLANDS. 65 

3-od abandoned what was dearest to them, and sought a more 
peaceful home for their persecuted faith. Here husbands 
were taking an eternal farewell of their wives, fathers of their 
children; there whole families were preparing to depart. 
All Antwerp resembled a house of mourning ; wherever the 
eye turned, some affecting spectacle of painful separation pre- 
sented itself. A seal was set on the doors of the Protestant 
churches ; the whole worship seemed to be extinct. The 10th 
cf April (1567) was the day appointed for the departure of 
the preachers. In the town hall, where they appeared for the 
last time to take leave of the magistrate, they could not com- 
mand their grief; but broke forth into bitter reproaches. 
They had been sacrificed, they exclaimed, they had been 
shamefully betrayed. But a time would come when Antwerp 
would pay dearly enough for this baseness. Still more bitter 
were the complaints of the Lutheran clergy, whom the magis- 
trate himself had invited into the country, to preach against 
the Calvinists. Under the delusive representation that the 
king was not unfavourable to their religion, they had been se- 
duced into a combination against the Calvinists, but as soon 
as the latter had been, by their co-operation, brought under 
subjection, and their own services were no longer required, 
they were left to bewail their folly, which had involved them- 
selves and their enemies in common ruin. 

A few days afterwards, the regent entered Antwerp in 
triumph, accompanied by a thousand Walloon horse, the 
Knights of the Golden Fleece, all the governors and coun- 
sellors, a number of municipal officers, and her whole 
court. Her first visit was to the cathedral, which still bore 
lamentable traces of the violence of the Iconoclasts, and 
drew from her many and bitter tears. Immediately after- 
wards four of the rebels, who had been overtaken in their 
flight, were brought in and executed in the public market- 
place. All the children who had been baptized after the 
Protestant rites were rebaptized by Roman Catholic priests ; 
all the schools of heretics were closed, and their churches le- 
velled to the ground. Nearly all the towns in the Nether- 
lands followed the example of Antwerp, and banished the 
Protestant preachers. By the end of April, the Roman Ca- 
tholic churches were repaired and embellished more splendidly 
than ever, while all the Protestant places of worship were 



56 HISTORY OF THE 

pulled down, and every vestige of the proscribed belief obliter 
ated in the seventeen provinces. The populace, whose sym- 
pathies are generally with the successful party, was now as 
active in accelerating the ruin of the unfortunate, as a short 
time before it had been furiously zealous in its cause ; in 
Ghent, a large and beautiful church which the Calvinists had 
erected was attacked, and in less than an hour had wholly 
disappeared. From the beams of the roofless churches, gib- 
bets were erected for those who had profaned the sanctuaries 
of the Roman Catholics. The places of execution were filled 
with corpses, the prisons with condemned victims, the high 
roads with fugitives. Innumerable were the victims of this 
year of murder; in the smallest towns fifty at least, in 
several of the larger as many as three hundred, were put to 
death, while no account was kept of the numbers in the open 
country who fell into the hands of the provost-marshal, and 
were immediately strung up as miscreants, without trial and 
without mercy. 

The regent was still in Antwerp, when ambassadors pre- 
sented themselves from the Electors of Brandenburg, Saxony, 
Hesse, Wurtemberg, and Baden to intercede for their fugitive 
brethren in the faith. The expelled preachers of the Augs- 
burg Confession had claimed the rights assured to them by 
the religious peace of the Germans, in which Brabant, as part 
of the empire, participated, and had thrown themselves on the 
protection of those princes. The arrival of the foreign mi- 
nisters alarmed the regent, and she vainly endeavoured to 
prevent their entrance into Antwerp ; under the guise, how 
ever, of showing them marks of honour, she continued to 
keep them closely watched, lest they should encourage the 
malcontents in any attempts against the peace of the town. 
From the high tone which they most unseasonably adopted 
towards the regent, it might almost be inferred that they were 
little in earnest in their demand. " It was but reasonable," they 
said, "that the Confession of Augsburg, as the only one, which 
met the spirit of the Gospel, should be the ruling faith in the 
Netherlands ; but to persecute it by such cruel edicts as 
were in force was positively unnatural, and could not be 
allowed They therefore required of the regent, in the name of 
religion, not to treat the people, entrusted to her rule, with such 
severity. She replied through the Count of Staremberg. her 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 57 

minister for German affairs, that such an exordium deserved 
no answer at all. From the sympathy which the German 
princes had shown for the Belgian fugitives, it was clear that 
they gave less credit to the letters of the king, in explanation 
of his measures, than to the reports of a few worthless wretches 
who, in the desecrated churches, had left behind them a worthier 
memorial of their acts and characters. It would far more he- 
come them to leave to the King of Spain the care of his own 
subjects, and abandon the attempt to foster a spirit cf re- 
bellion in foreign countries, from which they would reap 
neither honour nor profit. The ambassadors left Antwerp in 
a few days without having effected anything. The Saxon 
minister, indeed, in a private interview with the regent, even 
assured her that his master had most reluctantly taken this 
step. 

The German ambassadors had not quitted Antwerp, when 
intelligence from Holland completed the triumph of the 
regent. From fear of Count Megen, Count Brederode 
had deserted his town of Viane, and with the aid of the 
Protestant inhabitants had succeeded in throwing himself 
into Amsterdam, where his arrival caused great alarm to 
the city magistrate, who had previously found difficulty in 
preventing a revolt, while it revived the courage of the Pro- 
testants. Here Brederode s adherents increased daily, and 
many noblemen flocked to him from Utrecht, Friesland, and 
Groningen, whence the victorious arms of Megen and Arem- 
berg had driven them. Under various disguises, they found 
means to steal into the city, where they gathered round Bre- 
derode, and served him as a strong bodyguard. The regent, 
apprehensive of a new outbreak, sent one of her private secre- 
taries, Jacob de la Torre, to the Council of Amsterdam, and 
ordered them to get rid of Count Brederode on any terms, 
and at any risk. Neither the magistrate nor de la Torre him- 
self, who visited Brederode in person to acquaint him with the 
will of the duchess, could prevail upon him to depart. The se- 
cretary was even surprised in his own chamber by a party of Bre- 
derode's followers, and deprived of all his papers, and would, 
perhaps, have lost his life also, if ne had not contrived to make 
his escape. Brederode remained in Amsterdam a full month af- 
ter this occurrence, a powerless idol of the Protestants, and an 
oppressive burden to the Eoman Catholics ; while his fine army, 



58 HISTORY OF THE 

which he had left in Yiane, reinforced by many fugitives 
from the southern provinces, gave Count Megen enough to do 
without attempting to harass the Protestants in their flight. 
At last, Brederode resolved to follow the example of Orange, 
and yielding to necessity, abandon a desperate cause. He in- 
formed the town council that he was willing to leave Am- 
sterdam, if they would enable him to do so by furnishing him 
with the pecuniary means. Glad to get quit of him, they 
hastened to borrow the money on the security of the town 
council. Brederode quitted Amsterdam the same night, and 
was conveyed in a gun-boat as far as Vlie, from whence he for- 
tunately escaped to Embden. Fate treated him more mildly 
than the majority of those he had implicated in his foolhardy 
enterprise : he died the year after, 1568, at one of his castles 
in Germany, from the effects of drinking, by which he sought 
ultimately to drown his grief and disappointments. His wi- 
dow, Countess of Moers in her own right, was remarried to 
the Prince Palatine, Frederick III. The Protestant cause 
lost but little by his demise ; the work which he had com- 
menced, as it had not been kept alive by him, so it did not 
die with him. 

The little army, which in his disgraceful flight he had desert- 
ed, was bold and valiant, and had a few resolute leaders. It 
disbanded, indeed, as soon as he, to whom it looked for pay, had 
fled ; but hunger and courage kept its parts together some 
time longer. One body, under the command of Dietrich of 
Battenburgh, marched to Amsterdam, in the hope of carry- 
ing that town ; but Count Megen hastened with thirteen 
companies of excellent troops to its relief, and compelled the 
rebels to give up the attempt. Contenting themselves with 
plundering the neighbouring cloisters, among which the abbey 
of Egmont in particular was hardly dealt with, they turned 
off towards Waaterland, where they hoped the numerous 
swamps would protect them from pursuit., But thither 
Count Megen followed them, and compelled them, in all 
haste, to seek safety in the Zuyderzee. The brothers Van 
Battenburg, and two Friesan nobles, Beima and Galama, with 
a hundred and twenty men and the booty they had taken from 
the monasteries, embarked near the town of Hoorne, intend- 
ing to cross to Friesland, but, through the treachery of the 
steersman, who ran the vessel on a sandbank near Harlingen, 



EEVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 59 

they fell into the hands of one of Aremberg's captains, who 
took them all prisoners. The Count of Aremberg immediately 
pronounced sentence upon all the captives of plebeian rank, 
but sent his noble prisoners to the regent, who caused seven 
of them to be beheaded. Seven others of the most noble, in 
eluding the brothers Van Battenburg and some Frieslanders, 
all in the bloom of youth, were reserved for the Duke of Alva, 
to enable him to signalize the commencement of his adminis- 
tration by a deed, which was in every way worthy of him. 
The troops in four other vessels which set sail from Medem- 
blick, ancf were pursued by Count Megen in small boats, 
were more successful. A contrary wind had forced them out of 
their course, and driven them ashore on the coast of Gueldres, 
where they all got safe to land ; crossing the Rhine near Heu- 
sen, they fortunately escaped into Cleves, where they tore 
their flags in pieces, and dispersed. In North Holland, 
Count Megen overtook some squadrons who had lingered 
too long in plundering the cloisters, and completely overpow- 
ered them. He afterwards formed a junction with Noir- 
carmes, and garrisoned Amsterdam. The Duke Erich of 
Brunswick also surprised three companies, the last remains of 
the army of the Gueux, near Viane, where they were endea- 
vouring to take a battery, routed them and captured their 
leader Rennesse, who was shortly afterwards beheaded at the 
castle of Freudenburg in Utrecht. Subsequently, when Duke 
Erich entered Viane, he found nothing but deserted streets, 
the inhabitants having left it with the garrison on the first 
alarm. He immediately razed the fortifications, and reduced 
this arsenal of the Gueux to an open town without defences. 
All the originators of the league were now dispersed ; Brede- 
rode and Louis of Nassau had fled to Germany, and Counts 
Hogstraten, Bergen, and Kuilemberg had followed their ex- 
ample, Mansfeld had seceded, the brothers Van Battenburg 
awaited in prison an ignominious fate, while Thoulouse alone 
had found an honourable death on the field of battle. Those 
of the confederates who had escaped the sword of the enemy, 
and the axe of the executioner, had saved nothing but their 
lives, and thus the title which they had assumed for show, be- 
came at last a terrible reality. 

Such was the inglorious end of the noble league, which 
in its beginning awakened such fair hopes, and pro- 



60 HISTORY OF THE 

raised to become a powerful protection against oppression. 
Unanimity was its strength ; distrust and internal dissension 
its ruin. It brought to light and developed many rare and 
beautiful virtues ; but it wanted the most indispensable of all, 
prudence and moderation, without which any undertaking 
must miscarry, and all the fruits of the most laborious in- 
dustry perish. If its objects had been as pure as it pretended, 
or even had they remained as pure as they really were at its 
first establishment, it might have defied the unfortunate com- 
bination of circumstances which prematurely overwhelmed it ; 
and even if unsuccessful, it would still have deserved an ho- 
nourable mention in history. But it is too evident that the 
confederate nobles, whether directly or indirectly, took a 
greater share in the frantic excesses of the Iconoclasts than 
comported with the dignity and blamelessness of their confe- 
deration ; and many among them openly exchanged their own 
good cause for the mad enterprise of these worthless vaga- 
bonds. The restriction of the Inquisition, and a mitigation of 
the cruel inhumanity of the edicts, must be laid to the credit 
of the league ; but this transient relief was dearly pur- 
chased, at the cost of so many of the best and bravest citi- 
zens, who either lost their lives in the field, or in exile 
carried their wealth and industry to another quarter of the 
world ; and of the presence of Alva and the Spanish arms 
Many, too, of its peaceable citizens, who, without its danger- 
ous temptations, would never have been seduced from the 
ranks of peace and order, were beguiled by the hope of success 
into the most culpable enterprises, and by their failure 
plunged into ruin and misery. But it cannot be denied, that 
the league atoned in some measure for these wrongs by posi- 
tive benefits. It brought together and emboldened many 
whom a selfish pusillanimity kept asunder and inactive ; it 
diffused a salutary public spirit amongst the Belgian people, 
which the oppression of the government had almost entirely 
extinguished, and gave unanimity and a common voice to the 
scattered members of the nation, the absence of which alone 
makes despots bold. The attempt, indeed, failed, and the 
knots, too carelessly tied, were quickly unloosed ; but it was 
through such failures that the nation was eventually to attain 
to a firm and lasting union, which should bid defiance to 
change. 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 61 

The total destruction of the Geusen army quickly brought 
the Dutch towns also back to their obedience, and in the pro- 
vinces there remained not a single place which had not sub- 
mitted to the regent ; but the increasing emigration, both of 
the natives and the foreign residents, threatened the country 
with depopulation. In Amsterdam the crowd of fugitives was 
so great, that vessels were wanting to convey them across the 
North Sea and the Zuyderzee, and that flourishing emporium 
beheld with dismay the approaching downfall of its prosperity. 
Alarmed at this general flight, the regent hastened to write 
letters to all the towns, to encourage the citizens to remain, 
and by fair promises to revive a hope of better and milder 
measures. In the king's name, she promised to all who 
would freely swear to obey the state and the church complete 
indemnity, and by public proclamation invited the fugitives to 
trust to the royal clemency and return to their homes. She 
engaged also to relieve the nation from the dreaded presence 
of a Spanish army, even if it were already on the frontiers ; 
nay, she went so far as to drop hints that, if necessary, means 
might be found to prevent it by force from entering the pro- 
vinces, as she was fully determined not to relinquish to an- 
other the glory of a peace which it had cost her so much la- 
bour to effect. Few, however, returned in reliance upon her 
word, and these few had cause to repent it in the sequel ; 
many thousands had already quitted the country, and several 
thousands more quickly followed them. Germany and Eng- 
land were filled with Flemish emigrants, who, wherever they 
settled, retained their usages and manners, and even their cos- 
tume, unwilling to come to the painful conclusion that they 
should never again see their native land, and to give up all 
hopes of return. Few carried with them any remains of their 
former affluence ; the greater portion had to beg their way, 
and bestowed on their adopted country nothing but indus- 
trious skill and honest citizens. 

And now the regent hastened to report to the king, tidings 
such as during her whole administration she had never beforo 
been able to gratify him with. She announced to him that 
she had succeeded in restoring quiet throughout the provinces, 
and that she thought herself strong enough to maintain it. 
The sects were extirpated, and the Koman Catholic worship 
re-established in all its former splendour; the rebels had 



(52 HISTORY OF THE 

either already met with, or were awaiting in prison, the punish 
ment they deserved ; the towns were secured by adequate garri 
sons. There was, therefore, no necessity for sending Spanish 
troops into the Netherlands, and nothing to justify their en- 
trance. Their arrival would tend to destroy the existing repose, 
which it had cost so much to establish, would check the much- 
desired revival of commerce and trade, and while it would in- 
volve the country in new expenses, would, at the same time, de- 
prive them of the only means of supporting them. The mere ru- 
mour of the approach of a Spanish army had stripped the 
country of many thousands of its most valuable citizens ; its 
actual appearance would reduce it to a desert. As there was 
no longer any enemy to subdue, or rebellion to suppress, the 
people would see no motive for the march of this army but 
punishment and revenge ; and, under this supposition, its ar- 
rival would neither be welcomed nor honoured. No longer 
excused by necessity, this violent expedient would assume the 
odious aspect of oppression, would exasperate the national 
mind afresh, drive the Protestants to desperation, and arm 
their brethren in other countries in their defence. The re- 
gent, she said, had, in the king's name, promised the nation 
it should be relieved from this foreign army, and to this stipu- 
lation she was principally indebted for the present peace ; she 
could not, therefore, guarantee its long continuance if her 
pledge was not faithfully fulfilled. The Netherlands would 
receive him as their sovereign the king, with every mark of 
attachment and veneration ; but he must come as a father to 
bless, not as a despot to chastise them. Let him come 
to enjoy the peace which she had bestowed on the country, 
but not to destroy it afresh. 



ALVAS ARMAMENT AND EXPEDITION TO THE NETHERLANDS. 

But it was otherwise determined in the council at Madrid. 
The minister Granvella, who, even while absent himself, ruled 
the Spanish cabinet by his adherents ; the Cardinal Grand In- 
quisitor Spinosa, and the Duke of Alva swayed respectively 
by hatred, a spirit of persecution, or private interest, had out- 
voted the milder councils of the Prince Ruy Gomes of Eboli, 
the Count of Feria, and the king's confessor Fresneda. The 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 6S 

insurrection, it was urged by the former, was indeed quelled 
for the present, but only because the rebels were awed by the 
rumour of the king's armed approach ; it was to fear of punish- 
ment alone, and not to sorrow for their crime, that the present 
calm was to be ascribed, and it would soon again be broken if 
that feeling were allowed to subside. In fact, the offences of 
the people fairly afforded the king the opportunity he had so 
long desired, of carrying out his despotic views with an ap- 
pearance of justice. The peaceable settlement for which the 
regent took credit to herself, was very far from according 
with his wishes, which sought rather for a legitimate pretext to 
deprive the provinces of their privileges, which were so ob- 
noxious to his despotic temper. 

With an impenetrable dissimulation, Philip had hitherto 
fostered the general delusion that he was about to visit the 
provinces in person, while, all along, nothing could have been 
more remote from his real intentions. Travelling at any time 
ill suited the methodical regularity of his life, which moved 
with the precision of clockwork ; and his narrow and sluggish 
intellect was oppressed by the variety and multitude of 
objects with which new scenes crowded it. The difficul- 
ties and dangers w r hich would attend a journey to the Nether- 
lands must, therefore, have been peculiarly alarming to his 
natural timidity and love of ease. Why should he, who, 
in all that he did, was accustomed to consider himself alone, 
and to make men accommodate themselves to his principles, 
not his principles to men, undertake so perilous an expedition, 
when he could see neither the advantage nor necessity of it. 
Moreover, as it had ever been to him an utter impossibility to 
separate, even for a moment, his person from his royal dignity, 
which no prince ever guarded so tenaciously and pedantically 
as himself, so the magnificence and ceremony, which in his 
mind were inseparably connected with such a journey, and 
the expenses which, on this account, it would necessarily occa- 
sion, were of themselves sufficient motives to account for his 
indisposition to it, without its being at all requisite to call in 
the aid of the influence of his favourite, Euy Gomes, who is 
said to have desired to separate his rival, the Duke of Alva, 
from the king. Little, however, as he seriously intended this 
"ourney, he still deemed it advisable to keep up the expecta- 
tion of it, as well with a view of sustaining the courage of the 



34 HISTORY OF THE 

loyal, as of preventing a dangerous combination of the dis 
affected, and stopping the further progress of the rebels. 

In order to carry on the deception as long as possible, 
Philip made extensive preparations for his departure, and 
neglected nothing which could be required for such an event 
He ordered ships to be fitted out, appointed the officers and 
others to attend him. To allay the suspicion such warlike 
preparations might excite in all foreign courts, they were 
informed through his ambassadors of his real design. He 
applied to the King of France for a passage for himself and 
attendants through that kingdom, and consulted the Duke 
of Savoy as to the preferable route. He caused a list to be 
drawn up of all the towns and fortified places that lay in his 
march, and directed all the intermediate distances to be accu- 
rately laid down. Orders were issued for taking a map and 
survey of the whole extent of country between Savoy and 
Burgundy, the duke being requested to furnish the requisite 
surveyors and scientific officers. To such lengths was the 
deception carried, that the regent was commanded to hold 
eight vessels, at least, in readiness, off Zealand, and to de- 
spatch them to meet the king the instant she heard of his 
having sailed from Spain ; and these ships she actually got 
ready, and caused prayers to be offered up in all the churches 
for the king's safety during the voyage, though, in secret, 
many persons did not scruple to remark that, in his chamber 
at Madrid, his majesty would not have much cause to dread 
the storms at sea. Philip played his part with such masterly 
skill, that the Belgian ambassadors in Madrid, Lords Bergen 
and Montigny, who at first had disbelieved in the sincerity 
of his pretended journey, began at last to be alarmed, and in- 
fected their friends in Brussels with similar apprehensions. 
An attack of tertian ague, which about this time the king 
suffered, or perhaps feigned, in Segovia, afforded a plausible 
pretence for postponing his journey, while, mean time, the 
preparations for it were carried on with the utmost activity. 
At last, when the urgent and repeated solicitations of his 
sister compelled him to make a definite explanation of his 
plans, he gave orders that the Duke of Alva should set out 
forthwith with an army, both to clear the way before him 
of rebels, and to enhance the splendour of his own royal 
arrival. He did not yet venture to throw off the mask, and 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS 65 

announce the duke as his substitute. He had but too much 
reason to fear, that the submission which his Flemish nobles 
would cheerfully yield to their sovereign, would be refused to 
one of his servants, whose cruel character was well known, 
and who, moreover, was detested as a foreigner, and the enemy 
of their constitution. And, in fact, the universal belief that 
the king was soon to follow, which long survived Alva's en 
trance into the country, restrained the outbreak of disturb- 
ances which otherwise would assuredly have been caused by 
the cruelties which marked the very opening of the duke's 
government. 

The clergy of Spain, and especially the Inquisition, con 
tributed richly towards the expenses of this expedition, as to 
a holy war. Throughout Spain, the enlisting was carried on 
with the utmost zeal. The viceroys and governors of Sardinia, 
Sicily, Naples, and Milan, received orders to select the best of 
their Italian and Spanish troops in the garrisons, and despatch 
them to the general rendezvous in the Geneose territory, 
where the Duke of Alva would exchange them for the Spanish 
recruits which he should bring with him. At the same time, 
the regent was commanded to hold in readiness a few more 
regiments of German infantry in Luxembourg, under the 
command of the Counts Eberstein, Schaumburg, and Lodrona, 
and also some squadrons of light cavalry in the duchy of 
Burgundy, to reinforce the Spanish general immediately on 
his entrance into the provinces. The Count of Barlaimont 
was commissioned to furnish the necessary provision for the 
armament, and a sum of 200,000 gold florins was remitted to 
the regent, to enable her to meet these expenses, and to 
maintain her own troops. 

The French court, however, under pretence of the danger 
to be apprehended from the Huguenots, had refused to allow 
the Spanish army to pass through France. Philip applied to 
the Dukes of Savoy and Lorraine, who were too dependent 
upon him to refuse his request. The former merely stipulated 
that he should be allowed to maintain 2,000 infantry and a 
squadron of horse at the king's expense, in order to protect his 
country from the injuries to which it might otherwise be ex- 
j posed from the passage of the Spanish army. At the same 
r time, he undertook to provide the necessary supplies for its 
maintenance during the transit. 

¥ 



66 HISTORY OF THUS 

The rumour of this arrangement roused the Huguenots, 
the Genevese, the Swiss, and the Grisons. The Prince of 
Conde and the Admiral Coligny entreated Charles IX. not to 
neglect so favourable a moment of inflicting a deadly blow on 
the hereditary foe of France. With the aid of the Swiss, the 
Genevese, and his own Protestant subjects, it would, they 
alleged, be an easy matter to destroy the flower of the Spanish 
troops in the narrow passes of the Alpine mountains ; and 
they promised to support him in this undertaking with an 
army of 50,000 Huguenots. This advice, however, w^hose 
dangerous object was not easily to be mistaken, was plausibly 
declined by Charles IX., who assured them that he was both 
able and anxious to provide for the security of his kingdom. 
He hastily despatched troops to cover the French frontiers ; 
and the republics of Geneva, Bern, Zurich, and the Grisons, 
followed his example, all ready to offer a determined opposi- 
tion to the dreaded enemy of their religion and their liberty. 

On the 5th of May, 1567, the Duke of Alva set sail from 
Carthagena with thirty galleys, which had been furnished by 
Andrew Doria and the Duke Cosmo of Florence, and within 
eight days landed at Genoa, where the four regiments were 
waiting to join him. But a tertian ague, with which he was 
seized shortly after his arrival, compelled him to remain for 
some days inactive in Lombardy- — a delay of which the neigh- 
bouring powers availed themselves to prepare for defence. As 
soon as the duke recovered, he held at Asti, in Montferrat, a 
review of all his troops, who were more formidable by their 
valour than by their numbers, since cavalry and infantry 
together did not amount to much above 10,000 men. In his 
long and perilous march, he did not wish to encumber himself 
with useless supernumeraries, which would only impede his 
progress and increase the difficulty of supporting his army. 
These 10,000 veterans were to form the nucleus of a greater 
army, which, according as circumstances and occasion might 
require, he could easily assemble in the Netherlands them 
selves. 

This army, however, was as select as it was small. It con- 
sisted of the remains of those victorious legions, at whose head 
Charles V. had made Europe tremble ; sanguinary, indomitable 
bands, in whose battalions the firmness of the old Macedonian 
phalanx lived again; rapid in their evolutions from long 



REVOLT OF THE NETHEKLANDS. 67 

practice, hardy and enduring, proud of their leader's success, 
and confident from past victories, formidable by their licen- 
tiousness, but still more so by their discipline ; let loose 
with all the passions of a warmer climate upon a rich and 
peaceful country, and inexorable towards an enemy whom the 
church had cursed. Their fanatical and sanguinary spirit, 
their thirst for glory and innate courage was aided by a rude 
sensuality, the instrument by which the Spanish general 
firmly and surely ruled his otherwise intractable troops. 
With a prudent indulgence, he allowed riot and voluptuous- 
ness to reign throughout the camp. Under his tacit con- 
nivance, Italian courtezans followed the standards; even in 
the march across the Apennines, where the high price of the 
necessaries of life compelled him to reduce his force to the 
smallest possible number, he preferred to have a few regi- 
ments less, rather than to leave behind these instruments of 
voluptuousness *. 

But industriously as Alva strove to relax the morals of his 
soldiers, he enforced the more rigidly a strict military disci- 
pline, which was interrupted only by a victory, or rendered 
less severe by a battle. For all this he had, he said, the 
authority of the Athenian General Iphicrates, who awarded 
the prize of valour to the pleasure-loving and rapacious sol- 
dier. The more irksome the restraint by which the passions 
of the soldiers were kept in check, the greater must have been 
the vehemence with which they broke forth at the sole outlet 
which was left open to Ihem. 

The duke divided his infantry, which was about 9,000 
strong, and chiefly Spaniards, into four brigades, &nd gave 
the command of them to four Spanish officers. Alphonso of 
Ulloa led the Neapolitan brigade of nine companies, amount- 
ing to 3230 men; Sancho of Lodogno commanded the Milan 
brigade, 3200, men in ten companies, the Sicilian brigade 
with the same number of companies, and consisting of 1600 

* The bacchanalian procession of this army, contrasted strangely enough 
with the gloomy seriousness and pretended sanctity of its aim. The num- 
ber of these women was so great that, to restrain the disorders and quarrel- 
ling among themselves, they hit upon the expedient of establishing a disci- 
pline of their own. They ranged themselve under particular flags, 'marched 
in ranks and sections, and in admirable military order, after each battalion 
and classed themselves with strict etiquette according to their rank and pav* 

F 9 



68 HISTORY OF THE 

men, was under Julian Romero, an experienced warrior, who 
had already fought on Belgian ground * ; while Gonsalo of 
Braccamonte headed that of Sardinia, which was raised by 
three companies of recruits, to the full complement of the 
former. To every company, moreover, were added fifteen 
Spanish musqueteers. The horse, in all 1200 strong, con 
sisted of three Italian, two Albanian, and seven Spanish 
squadrons, light and heavy cavalry, and the chief command 
was held by Ferdinand and Frederick of Toledo, the two sons 
of Alva. Chiappin Vitelli, Marquis of Cetona, was field- 
marshal ; a celebrated general whose services had been made 
over to the King of Spain by Cosmo of Florence, and Gabriel 
Serbellon was general of artillery. The Duke of Savoy lent 
Alva an experienced engineer, Francis Pacotto, of Urbino, 
who was to be employed in the erection of new fortifications. 
His standard was likewise followed by a number of volunteers, 
and the flower of the Spanish nobility, of whom the greater 
part had fought under Charles V. in Germany, Italy, and 
before Tunis. Among these were Christopher Mondragone, 
:>ne of the ten Spanish heroes, who near Muhlberg swam 
across the Elbe with their swords between their teeth, and 
under a shower of bullets from the enemy, brought over from 
the opposite shore the boats which the Emperor required for 
the construction of a bridge. Sancho of Avila, who had been 
trained to war under Alva himself, Camillo of Monte, Francis 
Ferdugo, Karl Davila, Nicolaus Basta, and Count Martinego, 
all fired with a noble ardour, either to commence their military 
career under so eminent a leader, or by another glorious cam- 
paign under his command, to crown the fame they had already 
won. After the review, the army marched in three divisions 
across Mount Cenis, by the very route which, sixteen cen- 
turies before, Hannibal is said to have taken. The duke him- 
self led the van ; Ferdinand of Toledo, with whom was asso- 
ciated Lodogno as colonel, the centre ; and the Marquis of 
Cetona the rear. The Commissary General, Francis of Ibarra, 
was sent before with General Serbellon to open the road for 
the main body, and get ready the supplies at the several 
quarters for the night. The places which the van left in the 

* The same officer, who commanded one of the Spanish regiments, about 
which so much complaint had formerly been made in the States-Greneral 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 69 

morning were entered in the evening by the centre, which in 
its turn made room on the following day for the rear. Thus 
the army crossed the Alps of Savoy by regular stages, and 
with the fourteenth day completed that dangerous passage. 
A French army of observation accompanied it side by side 
along the frontiers of Dauphine and the course of the Rhone, 
and the allied army of the Genevese followed it on the right, 
and was passed by it at a distance of seven miles. Both 
these armies of observation carefully abstained from any 
act of hostility, and were merely intended to cover their 
own frontiers. As the Spanish legions ascended and de- 
scended the steep mountain crags, or while they crossed the 
rapid Iser, or file by file wound through the narrow passes of 
the rocks, a handful of men would have been sufficient to 
have put an entire stop to their march, and to drive them 
back into the mountains, where they would have been irre- 
trievably lost, since at each place of encampment supplies were 
provided for no more than a single day, and for a third part 
only of the whole force. But a supernatural awe and dread 
of the Spanish name appeared to have blinded the eyes of 
the enemy, so that they did not perceive their advantage, or 
at least did not venture to profit by it. In order to give them 
as little opportunity as possible of remembering it, the Spa- 
nish general hastened through this dangerous pass. Con- 
vinced, too, that if his troops gave the slightest umbrage he 
was lost, the strictest discipline was maintained during the 
march, not a single peasant's hut, not a single field was in- 
jured * ; and never, perhaps, in the memory of man, was so 
numerous an army led so far in such excellent order. Des- 
tined as this army was for vengeance and murder, a malignant 
and baleful star seemed to conduct it safe through all dan- 
gers; and it would be difficult to decide whether the prudence 
of its general, or the blindness of its enemies is most to be 
wondered at 



* Once only on entering Lorraine, three horsemen ventured to drive away 
a few sheep from a flock, of which circumstance the duke was no sooner in- 
formed, than he sent back to the owner what had been taken from him, and 
sentenced the offenders to be hung. This sentence was, at the intercession of 
the Lorraine general, who had come to the frontiers to pay his respects to the 
duke, executed on only one of the three, upon whom the lot fell at the drum* 
head. 



70 H1STOKY OF THE 

In Franche Comte, four squadrons of Burgundian cavalry 
newly raised joined the main army, which, at Luxembourg, 
was also reinforced by three regiments of German infantry 
under the command of Counts Eberstein, Schaumburg, and 
Lodrona. From Thionville, where he halted a few days, 
Alva sent his salutations to the regent by Francis of Ibarra, 
who was, at the same time, directed to consult her on the quar- 
tering of the troops. On her part, Noircarmes and Barlaimont 
were despatched to the Spanish camp to congratulate the duke 
on his arrival, and to show him the customary marks of honour. 
At the same time they w 7 ere directed to ask him to produce 
the powers entrusted to him by the king, of which, however, 
he only showed a part. The envoys of the regent were fol- 
lowed by swarms of the Flemish nobility, who thought they 
could not hasten soon enough to conciliate the favour of the 
new viceroy, or, by a timely submission, avert the vengeance 
which w r as preparing. Among them was Count Egmont. 
As he came forward, the duke pointed him out to the 
bystanders. " Here comes an arch-heretic," he exclaimed, 
loud enough to be heard by Egmont himself, who, surprised at 
these words, stopped and changed colour. But when the 
duke, in order to repair his imprudence, went up to him with 
a serene countenance, and greeted him with a friendly em- 
brace, the Fleming was ashamed of his fears, and made light 
of this warning, by putting some frivolous interpretation upon 
it. Egmont sealed this new friendship with a present of two 
valuable chargers, which Alva accepted with a grave con- 
descension. 

Upon the assurance of the regent that the provinces were 
in the enjoyment of perfect peace, and that no opposition 
was to be apprehended from any quarter, the duke discharged 
some German regiments, which had hitherto drawn their 
pay from the Netherlands. Three thousand six hundred men. 
under the command of Lodrona, were quartered in Antwerp, 
from which town the Walloon garrison, in which full reliance 
could not be placed, was withdrawn ; garrisons proportionably 
stronger were thrown into Ghent and other important places ; 
Alva himself marched with the Milan brigade towards 
Brussels, whither he was accompanied by a splendid cortege 
of the noblest in the land. 

Here, as in all the other towns of the Netherlands, feai 



HEYOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 71 

and terror had preceded him, and all who were conscious of 
any offences, and even those who were sensible of none, alike 
awaited his approach with a dread similar to that with which 
criminals see the coming of their day of trial. All who 
could tear themselves from the ties of family, property, and 
country, had already fled, or now at last took to flight. The 
advance of the Spanish army had already, according to the 
report of the regent, diminished the population of the pro 
vinces by the loss of 100,000 citizens, and this general flight 
still continued. But the arrival of the Spanish general 
could not be more hateful to the people of the Netherlands, 
than it was distressing and dispiriting to the regent. At 
last, after so many years of anxiety, she had begun to taste 
the sweets of repose, and that absolute authority, which had 
been the long cherished object of eight years of a troubled 
and difficult administration. This late fruit of so much 
anxious industry, of so many cares and nightly vigils, was now 
to be wrested from her by a stranger, who was to be placed 
at once in possession of all the advantages which she had 
been forced to extract from adverse circumstances, by a 
long and tedious course of intrigue and patient endur- 
ance. Another was lightly to bear away the prize of 
promptitude, and to triumph by more rapid success over her 
superior but less glittering merits. Since the departure of 
the minister Granvella, she had tasted to the full the plea 
sures of independence. The flattering homage of the nobility, 
which allowed her more fully to enjoy the shadow of power, 
the more they deprived her of its substance, had, by degrees, 
fostered her vanity to such an extent, that she at last estranged 
by her coldness, even the most upright of all her servants, 
the state counsellor Viglius, who always addressed her in 
the language of truth. All at once, a censor of her actions 
was placed at her side, a partner of her power was associated 
with her, if indeed it was not rather a master who was forced 
upon her, whos^ proud, stubborn, and imperious spirit, which 
no courtesy could soften, threatened the deadliest wounds U 
her self-love and vanity. To prevent his arrival, she had, 
in her representations to the king, vainly exhausted every 
political argument. To no purpose had she urged, that the 
utter ruin of the commerce of the Netherlands would be the 
inevitable consequence of this introduction of the Spanish 



72 HISTORY OF THE 

troops ; in vain had she assured the king, that peace was 
universally restored, and reminded him of her own services 
in procuring it, which deserved, she thought, a better guerdon 
than to see all the fruits of her labours snatched from her 
and given to a foreigner, and more than all, to behold all the 
good which she had effected, destroyed by a new and different 
line of conduct. E^/en when the duke had already crossed 
Mount Cenis, she made one more attempt, entreating him at 
least to diminish his army; but that also failed, for the 
duke insisted upon acting up to the powers entrusted to him. 
In poignant grief she now awaited his approach, and with 
the tears she shed for her country, were mingled those of 
offended self-love. 

On the 22nd of August, 1567, the duke of Alva appeared 
before the gates of Brussels. His army immediately took 
up their quarters in the suburbs, and he himself made it his 
first duty to pay his respects to the sister of his king. 
She gave him a private audience, on the plea of suffering 
from sickness. Either the mortification she had undergone 
had in reality a serious effect upon her health, or what 
is not improbable, she had recourse to this expedient, 
to pain his haughty spirit, and in some degree to lessen his 
triumph. He delivered to her letters from the king, and 
laid before her a copy of his own appointment, by which the 
supreme command of the whole military force of the Nether- 
lands was committed to him, and from which, therefore, it 
would appear, that the administration of civil affairs remained, 
as heretofore, in the hands of the regent. But as soon as he 
was alone with her, he produced a new commission which was 
totally different from the former. According to this, the 
power was delegated to him of making war at his discretion, 
of erecting fortifications, of appointing and dismissing at 
pleasure the governors of provinces, the commandants of 
towns, and other officers of the king, of instituting inquiries 
into the past troubles, of punishing those who originated 
them, and of rewarding the loyal. Powers of this extent, 
which placed him almost on a level with a sovereign prince, 
and far surpassed those of the regent herself, caused her 
the greatest consternation, and it was with difficulty that 
she could conceal her emotion. She asked the duke whether 
he had not even a third commission, or some special orders 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 73 

in reserve which went still further, and were drawn up still 
more precisely, to which he replied distinctly enough in the 
affirmative, but at the same time gave her to understand, that 
this commission might be too full to suit the present occasion, 
and would be better brought into play hereafter, with due regard 
to time and circumstances. A few days after his arrival, he 
caused a copy of the first instructions to be laid before the 
several councils and the states, and had them printed to ensure 
their rapid circulation. As the regent resided in the palace, 
he took up his quarters temporarily in Kuilemberg house, 
the same in which the association of the Grueux had received 
its name, and before which, through a wonderful vicissitude, 
Spanish tyranny now planted its flag. 

A dead silence reigned in Brussels, broken only at times 
by the unwonted clang of arms. The duke had entered the 
town but a few hours, when his attendants, like blood-hounds 
that have been slipped, dispersed themselves in all directions. 
Everywhere foreign faces were to be seen ; the streets were 
empty, all the houses carefully closed, all amusements sus- 
pended, all public places deserted. The whole metropolis 
resembled a place visited by the plague. Acquaintances 
hurried on without stopping for their usual greeting ; all 
hastened on the moment a Spaniard showed himself in the 
streets. Every sound startled them, as if it were the knock 
of the officials of justice at their doors ; the nobility, in 
trembling anxiety, kept to their houses ; they shunned ap- 
pearing in public, lest their presence should remind the new 
viceroy of some past offence. The two nations now seemed 
to have exchanged characters. The Spaniard had become the 
talkative man, and the Brabanter taciturn ; distrust and fear 
had scared away the spirit of cheerfulness and mirth, a con- 
strained gravity fettered even the play of the features. Every 
moment the impending blow was looked for with dread. 

This general straining of expectation, warned the duke to 
hasten the accomplishment of his plans, before they should 
be anticipated by the timely flight of his victims. His first 
object was to secure the suspected nobles, in order, at once 
and for ever, to deprive the faction of its leaders, and the 
nation, whose freedom was to be crushed, of all its supporters. 
By a pretended affability, he had succeeded in lulliug their 
first alarm, and in restoring Count Egmont, in particular, to 



74 HISTORY OF THE 

nis former perfect confidence, for which purpose he artfully 
employed his sons, Ferdinand and Frederick of Toledo, whose 
companionableness and youth assimilated more easily with 
the Flemish character. By this skilful device, he succeeded 
also in enticing Count Horn to Brussels, who had hitherto 
thought it advisable to watch the first measures of the duke 
from a distance, but now suffered himself to be seduced by 
the good fortune of his friend. Some of the nobility, and 
Count Egmont at the head of them, even resumed their 
former gay style of living. But they themselves did not 
do so with their whole hearts, and they had not many 
imitators. Kuilemberg house was incessantly besieged by a 
numerous crowd, who thronged around the person of the new 
viceroy, and exhibited an affected gaiety on their countenances, 
while their hearts were wrung with distress and fear. Egmont 
in particular assumed the appearance of a light heart, enter 
taining the duke's sons, and being feted by them in return. 
Meanwhile, the duke was fearful lest so fair an opportunity 
for the accomplishment of his plans might not last long, and 
lest some act of imprudence might destroy the feeling of 
security, which had tempted both his victims voluntarily to 
put themselves into his power ; he only waited for a third ; 
Hogstraten also was to be taken in the same net. Under a 
plausible pretext of business, he therefore summoned him 
to the metropolis. At the same time, that he purposed to 
secure the three counts in Brussels, Colonel Lodrona was 
to arrest the burgomaster Strahlen in Antwerp, an intimate 
friend of the Prince of Orange, and suspected of having 
favoured the Calvinists ; another officer was to seize the 
private secretary of Count Egmont, whose name was John 
Casembrot von Beckerzeel, as also some secretaries of Count 
Horn, and was to possess themselves of their papers. 

When the day arrived which had been fixed upon for the 
execution of this plan, the duke summoned all the coun 
sellors and knights before him, to confer with them upon 
matters of state. On this occasion, the Duke of Arschot, the 
Counts Mansfeld, Barlaimont, and Aremberg, attended on 
the part of the Netherlander, and on the part of the 
Spaniards, besides the duke's sons, Vitelli, Serbellon, and 
Ibarra. The young Count Mansfeld, who likewise ap- 
peared v at the meeting, received a sign from his father tu 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. tb 

withdraw with all speed, and by a hasty flight avoid the fate 
which was impending over him, as a former member of the 
Geusen league. The duke purposely prolonged the consulta- 
tion, to give time before he acted for the arrival of the 
courtiers from Antwerp, who were to bring him the tidings 
of the arrest of the other parties. To avoid exciting any 
suspicion, the Engineer Paciotto was required to attend the 
meeting, to lay before it the plans for some fortifications. At 
last, intelligence was brought him that Lodrona had success- 
fully executed his commission. Upon this the duke dexter- 
ously broke off the debate, and dismissed the council. And 
now, as Count Egmont was about to repair to the apartment 
of Don Ferdinand, to finish a game that he had commenced 
with him, the captain of the duke's body guard, Sancho 
D'Avila, stopped him, and demanded his sw r ord in the king's 
name. At the same time, he was surrounded by a number of 
Spanish soldiers, who, as had been preconcerted, suddenly 
advanced from their concealment. So unexpected a blow 
deprived Egmont, for some moments, of all powers of utter 
ance and recollection ; after a while, however, he collected 
himself, and taking his sword from his side with dignified 
composure, said, as he delivered it into the hands of the 
Spaniard, " This sword has before this, on more than one oc- 
casion, successfully defended the king's cause." Another 
Spanish officer arrested Count Horn, as he was return 
ing to his house, without the least suspicion of danger. 
Horn's first inquiry was after Egmont. On being told 
that the same fate had just happened to his friend, he 
surrendered himself without resistance. " I have suffered 
myself to be guided by him," he exclaimed, "it is fair 
that I should share his destiny." The two counts were 
placed in confinement, in separate apartments. While this 
was going on in the interior of Kuilemberg house, the whole 
garrison was drawn out under arms in front of it. No one 
knew what had taken place inside, a mysterious terror dif- 
fused itself throughout Brussels, until rumour spread the 
news of this fatal event. Each felt as if he himself were 
the sufferer ; with many, indignation at Egmont's blind in- 
fatuation, preponderated over sympathy for his fate ; all 
rejoiced that Orange had escaped. The first question of the 
Cardinal Granvella, too, wnen these tidings reached h&n in 



76 HISTOEY OF THE 

Rome, is said to have been, whether they had taken the 
Silent One also. On being answered in the negative, he 
shook his head : " then as they have let him escape they 
have got nothing." Fate ordained better for the Count of 
Hogstraten. Compelled by ill health to travel slowly, he 
was met by the report of this event, while he was yet on his 
way. He hastily turned back, and fortunately escaped de- 
struction. Immediately after Egmont's seizure, a writing was 
extorted from him, addressed to the commandant of the 
citadel of Ghent, ordering that officer to deliver the fortress 
to the Spanish Colonel, Alphonso d'Ulloa. Upon this, the 
two counts were then (after they had been for some weeks 
confined in Brussels) conveyed under a guard of 3000 Span- 
iards to Ghent, where they remained imprisoned till late in 
the following year. In the mean time, all their papers bad 
been seized. Many of the first nobility, who, by the pre- 
tended kindness of the Duke of Alva, had allowed themselves 
to be cajoled into remaining, experienced the same fate. 
Capital punishment was also, without further delay, inflicted 
on all who, before the duke's arrival, had been taken with 
arms in their hands. Upon the news of Egmont's arrest a 
second body of about 20,000 inhabitants took up the wan 
derer's staff, besides the 100,000 who, prudently declining to 
await the arrival of the Spanish general, had already placed 
themselves in safety*. After so noble a life had been as- 
sailed, no one counted himself safe any longer ; but many 
found cause to repent that they had so long deferred this 
salutary step ; for every day flight was rendered more diffi- 

* A great part of these fugitives helped to strengthen the army of th* 
Huguenots, who had taken occasion, from the passage of the Spanish army 
through Lorraine, to assemble their forces, and now pressed Charles IX. 
hard. On these grounds, the French court thought it had a right to demand 
aid from the regent of the Netherlands. It asserted that the Huguenots had 
looked upon the march of the Spanish army as the result of a preconcerted 
plan, which had been formed against them by the two courts at Bayonne, 
and that this had roused them from their slumber. That consequently it 
behoved the Spanish • court to assist in extricating the French king from 
difficulties, into which the latter had been brought, simply by the march ot 
the Spanish troops. Alva actually sent the Count of Aremberg with a con- 
siderable force, to join the army of the Queen Mother in France, and even 
offered to command these subsidiaries in person, which, however, was de 
clined. Strada, 206. Thuan, 541. 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS, 77 

cult, for the duke ordered all the ports to be closed, and 
pun. shed the attempt at emigration with death. The beggars 
were now esteemed fortunate, who had abandoned country 
and property, in order to preserve at least their liberty and 
their lives. 



alva's fiest measuees, and depaettjee of the duchess 

OF PAEMA. 

Alva's first step, after securing the most suspected of the 
nobles, was to restore the Inquisition to its former authority ; 
to put the decrees of Trent again in force, abolish the "Mo- 
deration" and promulgate anew the edicts against heretics 
in all their original severity. The Court of Inquisition in 
Spain had pronounced the whole nation of the Netherlands 
guilty of treason in the highest degree ; Catholics and hetero- 
dox, loyalists and rebels, without distinction; the latter as 
having offended by overt acts, the former as having incurred 
equal guilt by their supineness. From this sweeping con- 
demnation a very few were excepted, whose names, how- 
ever, were purposely reserred, while the general sentence 
was publicly confirmed by the king. Philip declared him- 
self absolved from all his promises, and released from all 
engagements, which the regent, in his name, had entered 
into with the people of the Netherlands ; and all the jus- 
tice which they had in future to expect from him must 
depend on his own good will and pleasure. All who had 
aided in the expulsion of the minister Granvella, who had 
taken part in the petition of the confederate nobles, or had 
but even spoke in favour of it ; all who had presented a peti- 
tion against the decrees of Trent, against the edicts relating 
to religion, or against the installation of the bishops ; all who 
had permitted the public preachings, or had only feebly re- 
sisted them ; all who had worn the insignia of the Gueux, 
had sung Geusen songs, or who in any way whatsoever had 
manifested their joy at the establishment of the league ; all 
who had sheltered or concealed the reforming preachers, at- 
tended Calvinistic funerals, or had even merely known of. 
their secret meetings, and not given information of them f 
all who had appealed to the national privileges ; all in fine, 



TS H1ST0EY OF THE 

who had expressed an opinion that they ought to obey God 
rather than man ; all these, indiscriminately, were declared 
liable to the penalties which the law imposed upon any 
violation of the royal prerogative, and upon high treason, 
and these penalties were, according to the instruction which 
Alva had received, to be executed on the guilty persons, 
without forbearance or favour — without regard to rank, sex, 
or age, as an example to posterity, and for a terror to all 
future times. According to this declaration, there was nc 
longer an innocent person to be found in the whole Neither 
lands, and the new viceroy had it in his power to make a 
fearful choice of victims. Property and life were alike at his 
command, and whoever should have the good fortune to pre- 
serve one or both, must receive them as the gift of his 
generosity and humanity. By this stroke of policy, as refined 
as it was detestable, the nation was disarmed, and unanimity 
rendered impossible. As it absolutely depended on the 
duke's arbitrary will, upon whom the sentence should be car- 
ried in force, which had been passed without exception upon 
all, each individual kept himself quiet, in order to escape, if 
possible, the notice of the viceroy, and to avoid drawing the 
fatal choice upon himself. Every one, on the other hand, in 
whose favour he was pleased to make an exception, stood in 
a degree indebted to him, and was personally under an 
obligation, which must be measured by the value he set 
upon his life and property. As, however, this penalty could 
only be executed on the smaller portion of the nation, the 
duke naturally secured the greater by the strongest ties 
of fear and gratitude, and for one whom he sought out 
as a victim, he gained ten others whom he passed over. 
As long as he continued true to this policy, he remained 
in quiet possession of his rule, even amid the streams 
of blood which he caused to flow, and did not forfeit this 
advantage, till the want of money compelled him to im- 
pose a burden upon the nation, which oppressed all indis- 
criminately. 

In order to be equal to this bloody occupation, the de- 
tails of which were fast accumulating, and to be certain 
of not losing a single victim through the want of instru 
tnents; and on the other hand to render his proceedings 
independent of the states, with whose privileges they were 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 79 

so much at variance, and who, indeed, were far too hu- 
mane for him, he instituted an extraordinary court of 
justice. This court consisted of twelve criminal judges, who 
according to their instructions, to the very letter of which they 
must adhere, were to try and pronounce sentence upon 
those implicated in the past disturbances. The mere insti- 
tution of such a board, was a violation of the liberties of the 
country, which expressly stipulated, that no citizen should be 
tried out of his own province; but the duke filled up the 
measure of his injustice, when, contrary to the most sacred 
privileges of the nation, he proceeded to give seats and votes in 
that court to Spaniards, the open and avowed enemies of 
Belgian liberty. He himself was the president of this court, 
and after him a certain Licentiate Vargas, a Spaniard by birth, 
of whose iniquitous character the historians of both parties are 
unanimous ; cast out like a plague spot from his own country, 
where he had violated one of his wards, he was a shameless, 
hardened villain, in whose mind avarice, lust, and the thirst 
for blood, struggled for ascendancy. The principal members 
were Count Aremberg, Philip of Noircarmes, and Charles of 
Barlaimont, who, however, never sat in it ; Hadrian Nicolai, 
Chancellor of Gueldres ; Jacob Mertens, and Peter Asset, 
Presidents of Artois and Flanders; Jacob Hesselts, and John 
de la Porte, Counsellors of Ghent ; Louis del Eoi, Doctor of 
Theology, and by birth a Spaniard; John du Bois, Kings Advo- 
cate; and De la Torre, Secretary of the Court. In compliance 
with the representations of Viglius, the Privy Council was 
spared any part in this tribunal ; nor was any one introduced 
into it from the great council at Malines. The votes of the 
members were only recommendatory, not conclusive ; the 
final sentence being reserved by the duke to himself. No 
particular time was fixed for the sitting of the court; the 
members, however, assembled at noon, as often as the duke 
thought good. But after the expiration of the third month, 
Alva began to be less frequent in his attendance, and at last 
resigned his place entirely to his favourite Vargas, who filled 
it with such odious fitness, that in a short time all the mem- 
bers, with the exception merely of the Spanish Doctor Dei 
yEio, and the Secretary De la Torre *, weary of the atrocities 

* The sentences passed upon the most eminent persons (for example, the 
sentence of death passed upon Strahlen, the 1 burgomaster of Antwerp) were 
feianed only by Vargas, Del Rio, and De la Torre. 



80 HISTOBY OF THE 

of which they were compelled to be both eyewitnesses and 
accomplices, remained away from the assembly. It is revolt- 
ing to the feelings to think how the lives of the noblest and 
best were thus placed at the mercy of Spanish vagabonds, 
and how even the sanctuaries of the nation, its deeds and 
charters, were unscrupulously ransacked, the seals broken, 
and the most secret contracts between the sovereign and the 
state profaned and exposed*. 

From the Council of Twelve, (which, from the object of its 
institution was called the Council for Disturbances, but, on 
account of its proceedings, is more generally known under 
the appellation of the Council of Blood, a name which the 
nation in their exasperation bestowed upon it,) no appeal was 
allowed. Its proceedings could not be revised. Its verdicts 
were irrevocable, and independent of all other authority. No 
other tribunal in the country could take cognizance of cases 
which related to the late insurrection, so that in all the other 
courts, justice was nearly at a standstill. The great council 
at Malines was as good as abolished; the authority of the 
Council of State entirely ceased, insomuch that its sittings were 
discontinued. On some rare occasions, the duke conferred 
with a few members of the late assembly, but even when this 
did occur, the conference was held in his cabinet, and was no 
more than a private consultation, without any of the proper 
forms being observed. No privilege, no charter of immunity, 
however carefully protected, had any weight with the Council 
for Disturbances f. It compelled all deeds and contracts to 
be laid before it, and often forced upon them the most 
strained interpretations and alterations. If the duke caused 
a sentence to be drawn out, which there was reason to fear 

* For an example of the unfeeling levity with which the most important 
matters, even decisions in cases of life and death, were treated in this san- 
guinary council, it may serve to relate what is told of the Counsellor Hesselts. 
He was generally asleep during the meeting, and when his turn came to vote 
on a sentence of death, he used to cry out, still half asleep : " Ad patibulum! 
Ad patibulum ! " so glibly did his tongue utter this word. It is further to 
be remarked of this Hesselts, that his wife, a daughter of the President 
Viglius, had expressly stipulated in the marriage contract, that he should 

sign the dismal office of attorney for the king, which made him detested by 

e whole nation. Vigl. ad Hopp. LXYII. L. 

+ Vargas, in a few words of barbarous Latin, demolished at once the 
boasted libertien of the Netherlands. " Non curamus vestros privilegios," 
he replied to one who wished to plead the immunities of the University ol 
Louvain. 



U15V0LT OF THE NETHERLANDS 8 1 

might be opposed by the states of Brabant, it was legalized 
without the Brabant seal. The most sacred rights of indi- 
viduals were assailed, and a tyranny without example forced 
its arbitrary will even into the circle of domestic life. As 
the Protestants and rebels had hitherto contrived to strengthen 
their party so much by marriages with the first families in 
the country, the duke issued an edict, forbidding all Nether- 
landers, whatever might be their rank or office, under pain 
of death and confiscation of property, to conclude a marriage 
without previously obtaining his permission. 

All, whom the Council for Disturbances thought proper to 
summon before it, were compelled to appear, clergy as well 
as laity, the most venerable heads of the senate, as well as the 
reprobate rabble of the Iconoclasts. Whoever did not present 
himself, as indeed scarcely anybody did, was declared an 
outlaw, and his property was confiscated ; but those who were 
rash or foolish enough to appear, or who were so unfortunate 
as to be seized, were lost without redemption. Twenty, 
forty, often fifty were summoned at the same time and from 
the same town, and the richest were always the first on whom 
the thunderbolt descended. The meaner citizens, who pos- 
sessed nothing that could render their country and their 
homes dear to them, were taken unawares, and arrested with- 
out any previous citation. Many eminent merchants, who 
had at their disposal fortunes of from 60,000 to 100,000 
florins, were seen with their hands tied behind their backs, 
dragged like common vagabonds at the horse's tail to execu- 
tion, and in Valenciennes, fifty-five persons were decapitated 
at one time. All the prisons, and the duke immediately on 
commencing his administration had built a great number 
of them, were crammed full with the accused; hanging, 
beheading, quartering, burning, were the prevailing and 
ordinary occupations of the day; the punishment of the 
galleys and banishment were more rarely heard of, for there 
was scarcely any offence, which was reckoned too trivial to 
be punished with death. Immense sums were thus brought 
into the treasury, which, however, served rather to stimulate 
the new viceroy's and his colleagues' thirst for gold, than to 
quench it. It seemed to be his insane purpose to make 
beggars of the whole people, and to throw all their riches 
into the hands of the king and his servants. The yearly 



»H HISTORY OF THE 

income derived from these confiscations was computed to 
equal the revenues of the first kingdoms of Europe; it ia 
said to have been estimated, in a report furnished to the 
king, at the incredible amount of 20,000,000 of dollars. Bn 
these proceedings were the more inhuman, as they often born 
hardest precisely upon the very persons who were the mosl 
peaceful subjects, and most orthodox Eoman Catholics, whom 
they could not want to injure. Whenever an estate was con- 
fiscated, all the creditors who had claims upon it were de 
frauded. The hospitals, too, and public institutions, which 
such properties had contributed to support, were now ruined, 
and the poor, who had formerly drawn a pittance from this 
source, were compelled to see their only spring of comfort 
dried up. Whoever ventured to urge their well grounded claims 
on the forfeited property, before the Council of Twelve, (for 
no other tribunal dared to interfere with these inquiries,) con- 
sumed their substance in tedious and expensive proceedings, 
and were reduced to beggary before they saw the end of them. 
The histories of civilized states, furnish but one instance of a 
similar perversion of justice, of such violation of the rights of 
property, and of such waste of human life ; but Cinna, Sylla, 
and Marius entered vanquished Home as incensed victors, 
and practised without disguise, what the viceroy of the Nether- 
lands performed under the venerable veil of the laws. 

Up to the end of the year 1567, the king's arrival had 
been confidently expected, and the well disposed of the people 
had placed all their last hopes on this event. The vessels, 
which Philip had caused to be equipped expressly for the pur- 
pose of meeting him, still lay in the harbour of Flushing, 
ready to sail at the first signal ; and the town of Brussels 
had consented to receive a Spanish garrison, simply because 
the king, it was pretended, was to reside within its walls 
But this hope gradually vanished, as he put off the journey 
from one season to the next, and the new viceroy very soon 
began to exhibit powers, which announced him less as a pre- 
cursor of royalty, than as an absolute minister, whose pre- 
sence made that of the monarch entirely superfluous. To 
complete the distress of the provinces, their last good angel 
was now to leave them in the person of the regent. 

From the moment, when the production of the duke's ex- 
.ensive powers left no doubt remaining, as to the practical 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. So 

termination of her own rule, Margaret had formed the resolu- 
tion of relinquishing the name also of regent. To see a succes- 
sor in the actual possession of a dignity, which a nine years' en- 
joyment had made indispensable to her ; to see the authority, 
the glory, the splendour, the adoration, and all the marks of 
respect, which are the usual concomitants of supreme power, 
pass over to another ; and to feel that she had lost that, which 
she could never forget she had once held, was more than 
a woman's mind could endure ; moreover, the Duke of 
Alva was of all men the least calculated to make her feel 
her privation the less painful, by a forbearing use of his 
newly acquired dignity. The tranquillity of the country, too, 
which was put in jeopardy by this divided rule, seemed to impos 
upon the duchess the necessity of abdicating. Many governor 
of provinces refused, without an express order from the court, to 
receive commands from the duke, and to recognise him as co 
regent. 

The rapid change of their point of attraction, could not be 
met by the courtiers so composedly and imperturbably, but 
that the duchess observed the alteration, and bitterly felt 
it. Even the few who, like State Counsellor Viglius, still 
firmly adhered to her, did so less from attachment to her 
person, than from vexation at being displaced by novices and 
foreigners, and from being too proud to serve a fresh ap- 
prenticeship under a new viceroy. But far the greater num- 
ber, with all their endeavours to keep an exact mean, could 
not help making a difference between the homage they 
paid to the rising sun, and that which they bestowed on the 
setting luminary. The royal palace in Brussels became more 
and more deserted, while the throng at Kuilemberg House 
daily increased. But what wounded the sensitiveness of the 
duchess most acutely, was the arrest of Horn and Egmont, 
which was planned and executed by the duke, without her 
knowledge or consent, just as if there had been no such per- 
son as herself in existence. Alva did, indeed, after the act 
was done, endeavour to appease her, by declaring that the 
design had been purposely kept secret from her, in order to 
spare her name from being mixed up in so odious a transac- 
tion ; but no such considerations of delicacy could close the 
wound which had been inflicted on her pride. In order at 
•mce, to escape all risk of similar insults, of which the pro- 

g 2 



£4 HISTOBY OF THK 

sent was probably only a forerunner, she despatched her pri- 
vate secretary Macchiavell to the court of her brother, there to 
solicit earnestly for permission to resign the regency. The 
request was granted without difficulty by the king, who ac- 
companied his consent with every mark of his highest esteem. 
He would put aside (so the king expressed himself) his own 
advantage and that of the provinces, in order to oblige his 
sister. He sent her a present of 30,000 dollars, and allotted 
to her a yearly pension of 20,000 *. At the same time, a 
diploma was forwarded to the Duke of Alva, constituting him 
in her stead, viceroy of all the Netherlands, with unlimited 
powers. 

Gladly would Margaret have learned that she was permitted 
to resign the regency before a solemn assembly of the states, 
a wish, which she had not very obscurely hinted to the king. 
But she was not gratified. She was particularly fond of so- 
lemnity, and the example of the Emperor her father, who had 
exhibited the extraordinary spectacle of his abdication of the 
crown in this very city, seemed to have great attractions for 
her As she was compelled to part with supreme power, 
she could scarcely be blamed for wishing to do so with as much 
splendour as possible. Moreover, she had not failed to ob 
serve how much the general hatred of the duke had effected 
in her own favour, and she looked, therefore, the more wistfully 
forward to a scene, which promised to be at once so flattering 
to her and so affecting. She would have been glad to mingle 
her own tears with those, which she hoped to see shed 
by the Netherlanders, for their good regent. Thus the 
bitterness of her descent from the throne, would have been 
alleviated by the expression of general sympathy. Little 
as she had done to merit the general esteem, during the 
nine years of her administration, while fortune smiled upon 

* "Which, however, does not appear to have been very punctually paid, if a 
pamphlet may be trusted which was printed during her lifetime. (It bears 
the title : Discours sur la Blessure de Monseigneur Prince d' Orange, 1582, 
without notice of the place where it was printed, and is to be found in the 
Elector's library at Dresden.) Ske languished, it is there stated, at Namur in 
poverty, and so ill supported by her son, (the then governor of the Nether- 
lands,) that her own secretary Aldrobandin called her sojourn there an 
exile. But the writer goes on to ask, what better treatment could she ex- 
pect from a son, who, when still very young, being on a visit to her at 
Brussels, snapped his fingers at her, behind her back. 



REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS. 85 

her, and the approbation of her sovereign was the limit to all 
her wishes, yet now the sympathy of the nation had acquired 
a value in her eyes, as the only thing which could in some 
degree compensate to her for the disappointment of all her 
other hopes. Fain would she have persuaded herself that 
she had become a voluntary sacrifice to her goodness of heart, 
and her too humane feelings towards the Netherlander. As, 
however, the king was very far from being disposed to incur 
any danger by calling a general assembly of the states, in order 
to gratify a mere caprice of his sister, she was obliged to con- 
tent herself with a farewell letter to them. In this document, 
she went over her whole administration, recounted, not without 
ostentation, the difficulties with which she had had to struggle, 
the evils which, by her dexterity, she had prevented, and 
wound up at last, by saying that she left a finished work, and 
had to transfer to her successor nothing but the punishment 
of offenders. The king, too, was repeatedly compelled to 
hear the same statement, and she left nothing undone to 
arrogate to herself the glory of any future advantages, which 
it might be the good fortune of the Duke to realize. Her 
own merits, as something which did not admit of a doubt, 
but was at the same time a burden oppressive to her modesty, 
she laid at the feet of the king. 

Dispassionate posterity may, nevertheless, hesitate to sub 
scribe unreservedly to this favourable opinion. Even though 
the united voice of her contemporaries, and the testimony of 
the Netherlands themselves vouch for it, a third party will 
not be denied the right to examine her claims with stricter 
scrutiny. The popular mind, easily affected, is but too ready 
to count the absence of a vice as an additional virtue, and, 
under the pressure of existing evil, to give excess of praise 
for past benefits. The Netherlander seems to have concen- 
trated all his hatred upon the Spanish name. To lay the 
1 blame of the national evils on the regent, would tend to remove 
from the king and his minister the curses, which he would 
rather shower upon them alone and undividedly ; and the Duke 
of Alva's government of the Netherlands was, perhaps, not 
the proper point of view from which to test the merits of his pre- 
decessor. It was undoubtedly no light task to meet the king's 
expectations, without infringing the rights of the people, and 
the duties of humanity ; but in struggling to effect these two 



86 HISTOKY OF THE 

contradictory objects, Margaret had accomplished neither. 
She had deeply injured the nation, while comparatively she 
had done little service to the king. It is true that she at last 
crushed the Protestant faction, but the accidental outbreak of 
the Iconoclasts assisted her in this, more than all her dexterity. 
She certainly succeeded by her intrigues in dissolving the 
league of the nobles, but not until the first blow had been 
struck at its roots by internal dissensions. The object, to se- 
cure which, she had for many years vainly exhausted her 
whole policy, was effected at last by a single enlistment of 
troops, for which, however, the orders were issued from Ma- 
drid. She delivered to the duke, no doubt, a tranquillized 
country ; but it cannot be denied that the dread of his ap- 
proach had the chief share in tranquillizing it. By her 
reports, she led the Council in Spain astray; because she 
never informed it of the disease, but only of the occasional 
symptoms ; never of the universal feeling and voice of the na 
tion, but only of the misconduct of factions. Her faulty ad 
ministration, moreover, drew the people into the crime, be 
cause she exasperated, without sufficiently awing them. She 
it was that brought the murderous Alva into the country, by 
leading the king to believe that the disturbances in the pro- 
vinces were to be ascribed, not so much to the severity of the 
royal ordinances, as to the unworthiness of those who were 
charged with their execution. Margaret possessed natural capa- 
city and intellect ; and an acquired political tact enabled her 
to meet any ordinary case ; but she wanted that creative ge- 
nius which, for new and extraordinary emergencies, invents 
new maxims, or wisely oversteps old ones. In a country 
where honesty was the best policy, she adopted the unfortun- 
ate plan of practising her insidious Italian policy, and thereby 
sowed the seeds of a fatal distrust in the minds of the people. 
The indulgence which has been so liberally imputed to her as 
a merit, was, in truth, extorted from her weakness and timid- 
ity by the courageous opposition of the nation ; she had 
never departed from the strict letter of the royal commands, 
by her own spontaneous resolution ; never did the gentle feel- 
ings of innate humanity lead her to misinterpret the cruel 
purport of her instructions. Even the few concessions, to 
which necessity compelled her, were granted with an uncertain 
and shrinking hand, as if fearing to give too much ; and she 



BKVOLT OF THE NETHEKLANDS. 8? 

lost the fruit of her benefactions, because she mutilated them 
by a sordid closeness. What, in all the other relations of her 
life, she was too little, she was on the throne too much — a wo- 
man ! She had it in her power, after Granvella's expulsion, 
to become the benefactress of the Belgian nation, but she did 
not. Her supreme good was the approbation of her king, her 
greatest misfortune his displeasure ; with all the eminent 
qualities of her mind, she remained an ordinary character, be- 
cause her heart was destitute of native nobility. She used a 
melancholy power with much moderation, and stained her go- 
vernment with no deed of arbitrary cruelty ; nay, if it had de- 
pended on her, she would have always acted humanely. Years 
afterwards, when her idol, Philip II., had long forgotten her, 
the Netherlanders still honoured her memory ; but she was 
far from deserving the glory which her successor's inhu- 
manity reflected upon her. 

She left Brussels about the end of December, 1567. The 
duke escorted her as far as the frontiers of Brabant, and 
there left her under the protection of Count Mansfeld, in 
jrder to hasten back to the metropolis, and show himsel* 
to the Netherlanders as sole regent. 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION 
o? 

COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 



Th e two counts were, a few weeks after their arrest, conveyed 
to Ghent, under an escort of 3000 Spaniards, where they 
were confined in the citadel for more than eight months. 
Their trial commenced in due form, before the Council of 
Twelve, and the Solicitor-General, John Du Bois, conducted 
the proceedings. The indictment against Egmont consisted 
of ninety counts, and that against Horn of sixty. It would oc- 
cuppy too much space to introduce them here. Every action, 
however innocent, every omission of duty, was interpreted on 
the principle which had been laid down in the opening of the 
indictment, " that the two counts, in conjunction with the 
Prince of Orange, had planned the overthrow of the royal 
authority in the Netherlands, and the usurpation of the go- 
vernment of the country;" the expulsion of Granvella ; the 
embassy of Egmont to Madrid ; the confederacy of the Gueux; 
the concessions which they made to the Protestants in the 
provinces under their government ; all were made to have a 
connexion with, and a reference to, this deliberate design 
Thus importance was attached to the most insignificant occur- 
rences, and one action made to darken and discolour another. 
By taking care to treat each of the charges as in itself a 
treasonable offence, it was the more easy to justify a sentence 
of high treason by the whole. 

The accusations were sent to each of the prisoners, who 
were required to reply to them within five days. After doing 
so, they were allowed to employ solicitors and advocates, 
who were permitted free access to them ; but as they wero 
accused of treason, their friends were prohibited from visit- 
ing them. Count Egmont employed for his solicitor Von 
Landas, and made choice of a few eminent advocates from 
Brussels. 

Their first step was to demur against the tribunal which wa* 



TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 8'*? 

Co try them, since, by the privilege of their Order, they, as 
Knights of the Golden Fleece, were amenable only to the king 
himself, the Grand Master. But this demurrer was overruled, 
and they were required to produce their witnesses, in default oi 
which they were to be proceeded against in contumaciam. Eg- 
mont had satisfactorily answered to eighty-two counts, while 
Count Horn had refuted the charges against him, article by ar- 
ticle. The accusation and the defence are still extant ; on that 
defence, every impartial tribunal would have acquitted then 
both. The Procurator Fiscal pressed for the production of thei? 
evidence, and the Duke of Alva issued his repeated commands 
to use despatch. They delayed, however, from week to week, 
while they renewed their protests against the illegality of the 
court. At last, the duke assigned them nine days to produce 
their proofs ; on the lapse of that period, they were to be de- 
dared guilty, and as having forfeited all right of defence. 

During the progress of the trial, the relations and friends 
of the two counts were not idle. Egmont's wife, by birth a 
duchess of Bavaria, addressed petitions to the princes of the 
German empire, to the Emperor, and to the King of Spain. 
The Countess Horn, mother of the imprisoned count, who was 
connected by the ties of friendship or of blood with the prin- 
cipal royal families of Germany, did the same. All alike pro- 
tested loudly against this illegal proceeding, and appealed 
to the liberty of the German empire, on which Horn, as 
a count of the empire, had special claims ; the liberty of the 
Netherlands, and the privileges of the Order of the Golden 
Fleece were likewise insisted upon. The Countess Egmont 
succeeded in obtaining the intercession of almost every Ger- 
man court in behalf of her husband. The King of Spain and 
his viceroy were besieged by applications in behalf of the 
accused, which were referred from one to the other, and made 
light of by both. Countess Horn collected certificates from 
all the Knights of the Golden Fleece in Spain, Germany, and 
Italy, to prove the privileges of the Order. Alva rejected 
them, with a declaration that they had no force in such a case 
as the present. " The crimes of which the counts are accused, 
relate to the affairs of the Belgian provinces, and he, the duke, 
was appointed by the king sole judge of all matters connected 
with those countries." 

Four mouths had been allowed to the Solicitor-General to 



90 TRTAJ, AND EXECUTION OF 

draw up the indictment, and five were granted to the twc 
counts to prepare for their defence. But instead of losing 
their time and trouble in adducing their evidence, which, 
perhaps, would have profited them but little, they preferred 
wasting it in protests against the judges, which availed 
them still less. By the former course, they would probably 
have delayed the final sentence, and in the time thus gained, 
the powerful intercession of their friends might perhaps have 
not been ineffectual. By obstinately persisting in denying 
the competency of the tribunal which was to try them, they 
furnished the duke with an excuse for cutting short the pro- 
ceedings. After the last assigned period had expired, on the 
1st of June, 1 568, the Council of Twelve declared them guilty, 
and on the 4th of that month, sentence of death was pro- 
nounced against them. 

The execution of twenty-five noble Netherlanders, who were 
beheaded in three successive days, in the market place at 
Brussels, was the terrible prelude to the fate of the two counts. 
John Casembrot von Beckerzeel, Secretary to Count Eg 
mont, was one of the unfortunates, who was thus rewarded for 
his fidelity to his master, which he stedfastly maintained even 
upon the rack, and for his zeal in the service of the king, 
which he had manifested against the Iconoclasts. The others 
had either been taken prisoners, with arms in their hands, in 
the insurrection of the " Grueux," or apprehended and con 
demned as traitors, on account of having taken a part in the 
petition of the nobles. 

The duke had reason to hasten the execution of the sen 
tence. Count Louis of Nassau had given battle to the Count 
of Aremberg, near the monastery of Heiligerlee in Groningen, 
and had the good fortune to defeat him. Immediately after 
his victory, he had advanced against Groningen, and laid siege 
to it. The success of his arms had raised the courage of his 
faction, and the Prince of Orange, his brother, was close at 
hand with an army to support him. These circumstances 
made the dukes presence necessary in those distant pro- 
vinces ; but he could not venture to leave Brussels, before the 
fate of two such important prisoners was decided. The whole 
nation loved them, which was not a little increased by their 
unhappy fate. Even the strict Papists disapproved of the 
execution of these eminent nobles. The slightest advantage 



COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 91 

which tne arms of the rebels might gain over the duke, or 
even the report of a defeat, would cause a revolution in 
Brussels, which would immediately set the two counts at 
liberty. Moreover, the petitions and intercessions which 
came to the viceroy, as well as to the King of Spain, from the 
German princes, increased daily ; nay, the Emperor Maximi- 
lian II. himself caused the countess to be assured " that she 
had nothing to fear for the life of her spouse." These power- 
ful applications might at last turn the king's heart in fa- 
vour of the prisoners. The king might, perhaps, in re- 
liance on his viceroy's usual dispatch, put on the appearance 
of yielding to the representations of so many sovereigns, and 
rescind the sentence of death, under the conviction that his 
mercy would come too late. These considerations moved the 
duke not to delay the execution of the sentence, as soon as 
it was pronounced. 

On the day after the sentence was passed, the two counts 
were brought, under an escort of 3,000 Spaniards, from Ghent 
to Brussels, and placed in confinement in the Brodhause, in 
the great market place. The next morning the Council of 
Twelve were assembled ; the duke, contrary to his custom, 
attended in person, and both the sentences, in sealed enve- 
lopes, were opened, and publicly read by Secretary Pranz. 
The two counts were declared guilty of treason, as having 
favoured and promoted the abominable conspiracy of the 
Prince of Orange, protected the confederated nobles, and 
been convicted of various misdemeanors against their king, and 
the church, in their governments and other appointments. 
Both were sentenced to be publicly beheaded, and their heads 
were to be fixed upon pikes, and not taken down without the 
duke's express command. All their possessions, fiefs, and 
rights escheated to the royal treasury. The sentence was 
signed only by the Duke and the Secretary Pranz, without 
asking or caring for the consent of the other members of the 
council. 

During the night between the 4th and 5th of June, the sen- 
tences were brought to the prisoners, after they had already 
gone to rest. The duke gave them to the Bishop of Ypres, 
Martin Rithov, whom he had expressly summoned to Brussels 
to prepare the prisoners for death. When the bishop received 
this commission, he threw himself at the feet of the duke, and 
supplicated him with tears in his eyes for mercy — at least for 



02 TRIAL AND EXECUTION Off 

respite for the prisoners ; but he was answered in a rough and 
angry voice, that he had been sent for from Ypres, not to op- 
pose the sentence, but by his spiritual consolation to reconcile 
the unhappy noblemen to it. 

Egmont was the first to whom the bishop communicated 
the sentence of death. " That is, indeed, a severe sentence ! ' 
exclaimed the count, turning pale, and with a faltering voice. 
" I did not think that I had offended his majesty so deeply as 
to deserve such treatment. If, however, it must be so, I sub- 
mit to my fate with resignation. May this death atone for 
my offence, and save my wife and children from suffering ! 
This, at least, I think I may claim for my past services. As 
for death, I will meet it with composure, since it so pleases 
God and my king." He then pressed the bishop to tell him 
seriously and candidly if there was no hope of pardon. 
Being answered in the negative, he confessed and re- 
ceived the sacrament from the priest, repeating after him 
;he mass with great devoutness. He asked what prayer 
was the best and most effective to recommend him to 
God in his last hour. On being told that no prayer could 
be more effectual than the one which Christ himself had 
taught, he prepared immediately to repeat the Lord's prayer. 
The thoughts of his family interrupted him ; he called for 
pen and ink, and wrote two letters, one to his wife, the other 
to the king ; the latter was as follows : 

" Sire, — This morning I have heard the sentence which 
your majesty has been pleased to pass upon me. Far as J 
have ever been from attempting any thing against the person 
or the service of your majesty, or against the only true, old, 
and Catholic religion ; I yet submit myself with patience to 
the fate which it has pleased God to ordain I should suffer. 
If, during the past disturbances, I have omitted, advised, or 
done any thing that seems at variance with my duty, it was most 
assuredly performed with the best intentions, or was forced 
upon me by the pressure 'of circumstances. I therefore pray 
your majesty to forgive me, and in consideration of my past ser- 
vices, show mercy to my unhappy wife, my poor children, 
and servants. In a firm hope of this, I commend myself t * 
the infinite mercy of God. 

" Your Majesty's most faithful vassal and servant, 

" Lamoral Count Egmont. 

" Brussels, June oth, 1568, near my last moments." 



COUNTS EGMONT AND HORN. 98 

This letter he placed in the hands of the bishop, with the 
strongest injunctions for its safe delivery ; and for greater se- 
curity, he sent a duplicate in his own handwriting to State 
Counsellor Viglius, the most upright man in the senate, by 
whom, there is no doubt, it was actually delivered to the king. 
The family of the count were subsequently reinstated in all 
his property, fiefs, and rights, which, by virtue of the sentence, 
had escheated to the royal treasury. 

Meanwhile, a scaffold had been erected in the market place, 
before the town hall, on which two poles were fixed with 
iron spikes, and the whole covered with black cloth. Two 
and-twenty companies of the Spanish garrison surrounded the 
scaffold, a precaution which was by no means superfluous. 
Between ten and eleven o'clock, the Spanish guard appeared 
in the apartment of the count ; they were provided with cords 
to tie his hands according to custom. He begged that this 
might be spared him, and declared that he was willing and 
ready to die. He himself cut off the collar from his doublet 
to facilitate the executioner's duty. He wore a robe of red 
damask, and over that a black Spanish cloak trimmed with 
gold lace. In this dress he appeared on the scaffold, and was 
attended by Don Julian Romero, Maitre de Camp ; Salinas, a 
Spanish captain ; and the Bishop of Ypres. The Grand Pro 
vost of the court, with a red wand in his hand, sat on horse 
back at the foot of the scaffold ; the executioner was concealed 
beneath. 

Egmont had at first shown a desire to address the people 
from the scaffold. He desisted, however, on the bishop's re 
presenting to him that, either he would not be heard, or that 
if he were, he might, such at present was the dangerous dis- 
position of the people, excite them to acts of violence, which 
would only plunge his friends into destruction. For a few 
moments he paced the scaffold with noble dignity, and lamented 
that it had not been permitted him to die a more honourable 
death for his king and his country. Up to the last he 
seemed unable to persuade himself that the king was in 
earnest, and that his severity would be carried any further than 
the mere terror of execution. When the decisive period 
approached, and he was to receive the Extreme Unction, 
he looked wistfully round, and when there still appeared 
no prospect of a reprieve, he turned to Julian Romero, and 



9.4 TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF COUNTS EGMOCT AND HORN. 

asked him once more if there was no hope of pardon for him 
Julian Romero shrugged his shoulders, looked on the ground, 
and was silent. 

He then closely clenched his teeth, threw off his mantle 
and robe, knelt upon the cushion, and prepared himself for 
the last prayer. The bishop presented him the crucifix to 
kiss, and administered to him Extreme Unction, upon which 
the count made him a sign to leave him. He drew a silk cap 
over his eyes, and awaited the stroke. Over the corpse and 
the streaming blood, a black cloth was immediately thrown. 

All Brussels thronged around the scaffold, and the fatal 
blow seemed to fall on every heart. Loud sobs alone broke 
the appalling silence. The duke himself, who watched the 
execution from a window of the town house, wiped his eyes as 
his victim died. 

Shortly afterwards, Count Horn advanced on the scaffold. 
Of a more violent temperament than his friend, and stimu- 
lated by stronger reasons for hatred against the king, he had 
received the sentence with less composure, although in his 
case, perhaps, it was less unjust. He burst forth in bitter re- 
proaches against the king, and the bishop with difficulty pre- 
vailed upon him to make a better use of his last moments, than 
to abuse them in imprecations on his enemies. At last, how- 
ever, he became more collected, and made his confession to 
the bishop, which at first he was disposed to refuse. 

He mounted the scaffold with the same attendants as his 
friend. In passing, he saluted many of his acquaintances ; 
his hands were, like Egmont's, free, and he was dressed in a 
black doublet and cloak, with a Milan cap of the same colour 
upon his head. When he had ascended, he cast his eyes upon 
the corpse, which lay under the cloth, and asked one of the 
bystanders if it was the body of his friend. On being an- 
swered in the affirmative, he said some words in Spanish, 
threw his cloak from him, and knelt upon the cushion. All 
shrieked aloud as he received the fatal blow. 

The heads of both were fixed upon the poles which were 
set up on the scaffold, where they remained until past three 
in the afternoon, when they were taken down, and, with the 
two bodies, placed in leaden coffins and deposited in a vault. 

In spite of the numoer of spies and executioners who sur- 
rounded the scaffold, the citizens of Brussels would not ba 



SIEGE OF ANTWEKP ^5 

prevented from dipping their handkerchiefs in the streaming 
blood, and carrying home with them these precious memc- 
^nls 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP 

BY THE PEINCE OF PARMA, 

IN THE YEARS 1584 AND 1585. 



It is an interesting spectacle to observe the struggle of 
man's inventive genius in conflict with powerful opposing ele- 
ments, and to see the difficulties, which are insurmountable to 
ordinary capacities, overcome by prudence, resolution, and a 
determined will. Less attractive, but only the more instruct- 
ive, perhaps, is the contrary spectacle, where the absence of 
those qualities renders all efforts of genius vain, throws away 
all the favours of fortune, and where inability to improve such 
advantages renders hopeless a success which otherwise seemed 
sure and inevitable. Examples of both kinds are afforded by 
the celebrated siege of Antwerp, by the Spaniards, towards 
the close of the sixteenth century, by which that flourishing 
city was for ever deprived of its commercial prosperity, but 
which, on the other hand, conferred immortal fame on the 
general who undertook and accomplished it. 

Twelve years had the war continued, which the northern 
provinces of Belgium had commenced at first in vindication 
simply of their religious freedom, and the privileges of their 
states, from the encroachments of the Spanish viceroy, but 
maintained latterly in the hope of establishing their inde 
pendence of the Spanish crown. Never completely victors, 
but never entirely vanquished, they wearied out the Spanish 
valour by tedious operations on an unfavourable soil, and ex 
hausted the wealth of the sovereign of both the Indies, while 
they themselves were called beggars, and in a degree actually 



93 SIEGE OF AVIWEBI'. 

were so. The League of Ghent, which had united the whole 
Netherlands, Eoman Catholic and Protestant, in a common 
and (could such a confederation have lasted") invincible body, 
was indeed dissolved ; but in place of this uncertain and un- 
natural combination, the northern provinces had, in the year 
1579, formed among themselves the closer Union of Utrecht, 
which promised to be more lasting, inasmuch as it was linked 
and held together by common political and religious interests. 
What the new republic had lost in extent, through this sepa- 
ration from the Roman Catholic provinces, it was fully com- 
pensated for by the closeness of alliance, the unity of enter- 
prise, and energy of execution ; and, perhaps, it was fortunate 
in thus timely losing what no exertion, probably, would ever 
have enabled it to retain. 

The greater part of the Walloon provinces had, in the year 
1584, partly by voluntary submission, and partly by force of 
arms, been again reduced under the Spanish yoke. The 
northern districts alone had been able at all successfully to 
oppose it. A considerable portion of Brabant and Flan- 
ders still obstinately held out against the arms of the Duke 
Alexander of Parma, who at that time administered the civil 
government of the provinces, and the supreme command of 
the army, with equal energy and prudence, and, by a series of 
splendid victories, had revived the military reputation of 
Spain. The peculiar formation of the country, which, by its 
numerous rivers and canals, facilitated the connexion of the 
towns with one another and with the sea, baffled all attempts 
effectually to subdue it, and the possession of one place could 
only be maintained by the occupation of another. So long as 
this communication was kept up, Holland and Zealand could 
with little difficulty assist their allies, and supply them abund- 
antly by water as well as by land witn all necessaries, so that 
valour was of no use, and the strength of the king's troops 
was fruitlessly wasted on tedious sieges. 

Of all the towns in Brabant, Antwerp was the most im- 
portant, as well from its wealth, its population, and its mili- 
tary force, as by^its position on the mouth of the Scheldt. 
This great and populous town, which at this date contained 
more than 80,000 inhabitants, was one of the most active 
members of the national league, and had in the course of the 
war distinguished itself above all the towns of Belgium, by an 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 97 

untameable spirit of liberty. As it fostered within its bosom 
ail the three Christian churches, and owed much of its pro- 
sperity to this unrestricted religious liberty, it had the more 
cause to dread the Spanish rule, which threatened to abolish 
this toleration, and by the terror of the Inquisition to drive all 
the Protestant merchants from its markets. Moreover, it had 
had but too terrible experience of the brutality of the Spanish 
garrisons, and it was quite evident that if it once more suf- 
fered this insupportable yoke to be imposed upon it, it would 
never again, during the whole course of the war, be able to 
throw it off. 

But powerful as were the motives which stimulated Ant- 
werp to resistance, equally strong were the reasons which de- 
termined the Spanish general to make himself master of 
the p]ace at any cost. On the possession of this town de- 
pended, in a great measure, that of the whole province of Bra- 
bant, which by this channel chiefly derived its supplies of corn 
from Zealand, while the captu> e of this place would secure to 
the victor the command of the Scheldt. It would also deprive 
the League of Brabant, which held its meetings in the town, 
of its principal support ; the whole faction of its dangerous in- 
fluence, of its example, its counsels, and its money, while the 
treasures of its inhabitants would open plentiful supplies for 
the military exigencies of the king. Its fall would, sooner or 
later, necessarily draw after it that of all Brabant, and the 
preponderance of power in that quarter would decide the whole 
dispute in favour of the king. Determined by these grave 
considerations, the Duke of Parma drew his forces together 
in July, 1584, and advanced from his position at Dornick to 
the neighbourhood of Antwerp, with the intention of invest 
mgit. 

But both the natural position and fortifications of the town 
appeared to defy attacks. Surrounded on the side of Brabant 
with insurmountable works and moats, and towards Flanders 
covered by the broad and rapid stream of the Scheldt, it could 
not be carried by storm ; and to blockade a town of such ex- 
tent, seemed to require a land force three times larger than 
that which the duke had, and moreover a fleet, of which he was 
utterly destitute. Not only did the river yield the town all 
necessary supplies from Ghent, it also opened an easy commu 
nication with the bordering province of Zealand. For, as the 

H 



98 SIEGE OF ANTWEKP. 

tide of the North Sea extends far up the Scheldt, and ebbs 
and flows regularly, Antwerp enjoys the peculiar advantage, 
that the same tide flows past it at different times in two oppo- 
site directions. Besides, the adjacent towns of Brussels, Ma- 
lines, Ghent, Dendermonde, and others, were all at this time 
in the hands of the league, and could aid the place from the 
land side also. To blockade, therefore, the town by land, 
and to cut off its communication with Flanders and Brabant, 
required two different armies, one on each bank of the river. 
A sufficient fleet was likewise needed to guard the passage 
of the Scheldt, and to prevent all attempts at relief, which 
would most certainly be made from Zealand. But by the 
war which he had still to carry on in other quarters, and 
by the numerous garrisons which he was obliged to leave 
in the towns and fortified places, the army of the duke was 
reduced to 10,000 infantry and 1700 horse, a force very inade- 
quate for an undertaking of such magnitude. Moreover, 
these troops were deficient in the most necessary supplies, 
and the long arrears of pay had excited them to subdued 
murmurs, which hourly threatened to break out into open mu- 
tiny. If, notwithstanding these difficulties, he should still 
attempt the siege, there would be much occasion to fear from 
the strongholds of the enemy, which were left in the rear, and 
from which it would be easy, by vigorous sallies, to annoy an 
army distributed over so many places, and to expose it to want 
by cutting off its supplies. 

All these considerations were brought forward by the coun- 
cil of war, before which the Duke of Parma now laid his 
scheme. However great the confidence which they placed in 
themselves, and in the proved abilities of such a leader, never- 
theless, the most experienced generals did not disguise their 
despair of a fortunate result. Two only were exceptions, Ca- 
pizucchi and Mondragone, whose ardent courage placed them 
above all apprehensions, the rest concurred in dissuading the 
duke from attempting so hazardous an enterprise, by which 
they ran the risk of forfeiting the fruit of all their former vic- 
tories, and tarnishing the glory they had already earned. 

But objections, which he had already made to himself and 
refuted, could not shake the Duke of Parma in his purpose. 
Not in ignorance of its inseparable dangers, not from thought- 
lessly overvaluing his forces, had he taken this bold resolve 



SIEGE OF ANTWEBP. 99 

But that instinctive genius, which leads great men by paths 
which inferior minds either never enter upon or never finish, 
raised him above the influence of the doubts which a cold and 
narrow prudence would oppose to his views, and without being 
able to convince his generals, he felt the correctness of his 
calculations in a conviction indistinct, indeed, but not on that 
account less indubitable. A succession of fortunate results 
had raised his confidence, and the sight of his army, un- 
equalled in Europe for discipline, experience, and valour, and 
commanded by a chosen body of the most distinguished 
officers, did not permit him to entertain fear for a moment. 
To those who objected to the small number of his troops, 
he answered, that however long the pike, it is only the point 
that kills ; and that in military enterprise, the moving power 
was of more importance than the mass to be moved. He was 
aware, indeed, of the discontent of his troops, but he knew 
also their obedience ; and he thought, moreover, that the best 
means to stifle their murmurs was by keeping them employed 
in some important undertaking, by stimulating their desire of 
glory by the splendour of the enterprise, and their rapacity, by 
hopes of the rich booty which the capture of so wealthy a town 
would hold out. 

In the plan which he now formed for the conduct of the 
siege, he endeavoured to meet all these difficulties. Famine 
was the only instrument by which he could hope to subdue 
the town ; but effectually to use this formidable weapon, it 
would be expedient to cut off all its land and water com- 
munications. With this view, the first object was to stop, or 
at least to impede, the arrival of supplies from Zealand. It 
was, therefore, requisite not only to carry all the outworks, 
vhich the people of Antwerp had built on both shores of the 
Scheldt for the protection of their shipping ; but also, wher- 
ever feasible, to throw up new batteries, which should com- 
mand the whole course of the river : and to prevent the 
place from drawing supplies from the land side, while efforts 
were being made to intercept their transmission by sea, all 
the adjacent towns of Brabant and Flanders were compre- 
hended in the plan of the siege, and the fall of Antwerp was 
based on the destruction of all those places. A bold, and con 
sidering the duke's scanty force, an almost extravagant project, 

K £ 



100 SIEGE OF ANTWERP 

which was, however, justified by the genius of its author, 
and crowned by fortune with a brilliant result. 

As, however, time was required to accomplish a plan of 
this magnitude, the Prince of Parma was content, for the 
present, with the erection of numerous forts on the canals 
and rivers which connected Antwerp with Dendercnonde, 
Ghent, Malines, Brussels, and other places. Spanish gar- 
risons were quartered in the vicinity, and almost at the 
very gates of those towns, which laid waste the open 
country, and by their incursions kept the surrounding terri- 
tory in alarm. Thus, round Ghent alone, were encamped 
about 3000 men, and proportionate numbers round the other 
towns. In this w r ay, and by means of the secret understand- 
ing, which he maintained with the Roman Catholic inha- 
bitants of those towns, the duke hoped, without weakening 
his own forces, gradually to exhaust their strength, and by 
the harassing operations of a petty but incessant warfare, 
even without any formal siege, to reduce them at last to 
capitulate. 

In the mean time, the main force was directed against 
Antwerp, which he now closely invested. He fixed his head 
quarters at Bevern in Flanders, a few miles from Antwerp, 
where he found a fortified camp. The protection of the 
Flemish bank of the Scheldt was intrusted to the Margrave 
of Rysburg, general of cavalry, the Brabant bank to the 
Count Peter Ernest Von Eansfeld, who was joined by another 
Spanish leader, Mondragone. Both the latter succeeded in 
crossing the Scheldt upon pontoons, notwithstanding the 
Flemish admiral's ship was sent to oppose them, and passing 
Antwerp, took up their position at Stabroek, in Bergen. De- 
tached corps dispersed themselves along the whole Brabant 
side, partly to secure the dykes and the roads. 

Some miles below Antwerp, the Scheldt was guarded by two 
strong forts, of which one was situated at Liefkenshoek, on 
the island Doel, in Flanders, the other at Lillo, exactly op- 
posite the coast of Brabant. The last had been erected by 
Mondragone himself, by order of the Duke of Alva, when 
the latter was still master of Antwerp, and for this very 
reason the Duke of Parma now entrusted to him the attack 
upon it. On the possession of these two forts the success of 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. J 01 

the siege seemed wholly to depend, since all the vessels sail- 
ing from Zealand to Antwerp must pass under their guns. 
Both forts had, a short time before, been strengthened by 
the besieged, and the former was scarcely finished w T hen the 
Margrave of Kysburg attacked it. The celerity with which 
he weut to work, surprised the enemy before they were sufn 
ciently prepared for defence; and a brisk assault quickly 
placed Liefkenshoek in the hands of the Spaniards. The 
confederates sustained this loss on the same fatal day that 
the Prince of Orange fell at Delft, by the hands of an as 
sassin. The other batteries, erected on the island of Doel, 
were partly abandoned by their defenders, partly taken by 
surprise, so tbat in a short time the whole Flemish side was 
cleared of the enemy. But the fort at Lillo, on the Brabant 
shore, offered a more vigorous resistance, since the people of 
Antwerp had had time to strengthen its fortifications, and to 
provide it with a strong garrison. Furious sallies of the be- 
sieged, led by Odets von Teligny, supported by the cannon 
of the fort, destroyed all the works of the Spaniards, and an 
inundation, which was effected by opening the sluices, finally 
drove them away from the place after a three weeks' siege, 
and with the loss of nearly two thousand killed. They now 
retired into their fortified camp at Stabroek, and contented 
themselves with taking possession of the dams, which run 
across the lowlands of Bergen, and oppose a breastwork to 
the encroachments of the East Scheldt. 

The failure of his attempt upon the fort of Lillo compelled 
the Prince of Parma to change his measures. As he could 
not succeed in stopping the passage of the Scheldt by his 
original plan, on which the success of the siege entirely de- 
pended, he determined to effect his purpose by throwing a 
bridge across the whole breadth of the river. The thought 
was bold, and there were many who held it to be rash. Both 
the breadth of the stream, which at this part exceeds 1,200 
paces, as well as its violence, which is still further augmented 
by the tides of the neighbouring sea, appeared to render 
every attempt of this kind impracticable. Moreover, he had 
to contend with a deficiency of timber, vessels, and workmen, 
as well as with the dangerous position between the fleets of 
Antwerp and of Zealand, to which it would necessarily be an 
easy task, in combination with a boisterous element, to inter- 



103 STEGE OF ANTWERP. 

rupt so tedious a work. But the Prince of Parma knew 
his power, and his settled resolution would yield to nothing 
short of absolute impossibility. After he had caused the 
breadth as well as the depth of the river to be measured, 
and had consulted with two of his most skilful engineers, 
Barocci and Plato, it was settled that the bridge should be 
constructed between Calloo in Flanders, and Ordam in 
Brabant. This spot was selected, because the river is here 
narrowest, and bends a little to the right, and so detains 
vessels awhile, by compelling them to tack. To cover the 
bridge, strong bastions were erected at both ends, of which 
the one on the Flanders shore was named fort St. Maria, 
the other on the Brabant side fort St. Philip, in honour of 
che king. 

While active preparations were making in the Spanish 
camp for the execution of this scheme, and the whole atten- 
tion of the enemy was directed to it, the duke made an un- 
expected attack upon Dendermonde, a strong town between 
Ghent and Antwerp, at the confluence of the Dender and the 
Scheldt. As long as this important place was in the hands of 
the enemy, the towns of Ghent and Antwerp could mutually 
support each other, and by the facility of their communication, 
frustrate all the efforts of the besiegers. Its capture would 
leave the prince free to act against both towns, and might 
decide the fate of his undertaking. The rapidity of his at- 
tack left the besieged no time to open their sluices, and lay 
the country under water. A hot cannonade was opened upon 
the chief bastion of the town, before the Brussels gate ; but 
was answered by the fire of the besieged, which made great 
havoc amongst the Spaniards. It increased, however, rather 
than discouraged their ardour; and the insults of the garrison, 
who mutilated the statue of a saint before their eyes, and 
after treating it with the most contumelious indignity, hurled 
it down from the rampart, raised their fury to the highest 
pitch. Clamorously they demanded to be led against the 
bastion, before their fire had made a sufficient breach in it, 
and the prince, to avail himself of the first ardour of their 
impetuosity, gave the signal for the assault. After a sanguin- 
ary contest of two hours, the rampart was mounted, and 
those, who were not sacrificed to the first fury of the Span 
Lards, threw themselves into the town. The latter was, iir 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP 10a 

deed, now more exposed, a fire being directed upon it from 
the works which had been carried ; but its strong walls, and 
the broad moat which surrounded it, gave reason to expect 
a protracted resistance. The inventive resources of the 
Prince of Parma soon overcame this obstacle also. While 
the bombardment was carried on night and day, the troops 
were incessantly employed in diverting the course of the 
Dender, which supplied the foss with water, and the besieged 
were seized with despair, as they saw the water of the trenches, 
the last defence of the town, gradually disappear. They 
hastened to capitulate, and in August, 1584, received a Span- 
ish garrison. Thus, in the short space of eleven days, the 
Prince of Parma accomplished an undertaking which, in the 
opinion of competent judges, would require as many weeks. 

The town of Ghent, now cut off from Antwerp and the sea, 
and hard pressed by the troops of the king, which were en- 
camped in its vicinity, and without hope of immediate suc- 
cour, began to despair, as famine, with all its dreadful train, 
advanced upon them with rapid steps. The inhabitants 
therefore despatched deputies to the Spanish camp at Bevern 
to tender its submission to the king, upon the same terms as 
the prince had a short time previously offered. The deputies 
were informed that the time for treaties was past, and that an 
unconditional submission alone could appease the just anger 
of the monarch whom they had offended by their rebellion. 
Nay, they were even given to understand, that it would be 
only through his great mercy if the same humiliation were 
not exacted from them, as their rebellious ancestors were 
forced to undergo under Charles V., namely, to implore 
pardon half naked, and with a cord round their necks. The 
deputies returned to Ghent in despair, but three days after- 
wards a new deputation was sent to the Spanish camp, which 
at last, by the intercession of one of the prince's friends, who 
was a prisoner in Ghent, obtained peace upon moderate terms. 
The town was to pay a fine of 200,000 florins, recall the 
banished Papists, and expel its Protestant inhabitants, who, 
however, were to be allowed two yenrs for the settlement of 
their affairs. All the inhabitants, except six, who were re- 
served for capital punishment, (but afterwards pardoned,) 
were included in a general amnesty, and the garrison, which 
amounted to 2,000 men, were allowed to evacuate the place 



104 SIKGE OF ANTWERP 

with the honours of war. This treaty was concluded in Sep 
tember of the same year, at the head quarters at Bevern, and 
immediately 3.000 Spaniards marched into the town as a 
garrison. 

It was more by the terror of his name, and the dread of 
famine, than by the force of arms, that the Prince of Parma 
had succeeded in reducing this city to submission, the largest 
and strongest in the Netherlands, which was little inferior tc 
Paris within the barriers of its inner town, consisted of 
37,000 houses, and was built on twenty islands, connected by 
ninety- eight stone bridges. The important privileges which, 
in the course of several centuries, this city had contrived to 
extort from its rulers, fostered in its inhabitants a spirit of 
independence, which not unfrequently degenerated into riot 
and licence, and naturally brought it in collision with the 
Austrian- Spanish government. And it was exactly this bold 
spirit of liberty, which procured for the reformation the 
rapid and extensive success it met with in this town, and the 
combined incentives of civil and religious freedom produced 
all those scenes of violence, by which, during the rebel- 
lion, it had unfortunately distinguished itself. Besides the 
fine levied, the prince found within the walls a large store 
of artillery, carriages, ships, and building materials of all 
kinds, with numerous workmen and sailors, who materially 
aided him in his plans against Antwerp. 

Before Ghent surrendered to the king, Vilvorden and He- 
rentals had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards, and the 
capture of the block-houses near the village of Willebrock 
had cut off Antwerp from Brussels and Malines. The loss 
of these places, within so short a period, deprived Antwerp 
of all hope of succour from Brabant and Flanders, and limit- 
ed all their expectations to the assistance which might be 
looked for from Zealand. But to deprive them also of this, 
the Prince of Parma was now making the most energetic 
preparations. 

The citizens of Antwerp had beheld the first operations of 
the enemy against their town with the proud security with 
which the sight of their invincible river inspired them. This 
confidence was also in a degree justified by the opinion of the 
Prince of Orange, who, upon the first intelligence of the de- 
sign, had said, that the Spanish array would inevitably perish 



siege of Antwerp. 105 

before the walls of Antwerp. That nothing, however, might 
be neglected, he sent, a short time before his assassina- 
tion, for the Burgomaster of An twerp, Philip Marnix of 
St. Aldegonde, his intimate friend, to Delft, where he con- 
sulted with him as to the means of maintaining defensive 
operations. It was agreed between them that it would 
be advisable to demolish forthwith the great dam between 
Sanvliet and Lillo, called the Blaaugarendyk, so as to allow 
the waters of the East Scheldt to inundate, if necessary, the 
lowlands of Bergen, and thus, in the event of the Scheldt 
being closed, to open a passage for the Zealand vessels to the 
town across the inundated country. Aldegonde had, after his 
return, actually persuaded the magistrate and the majority of 
the citizens to agree to this proposal, when it was resisted by 
the guild of butchers, who complained that they would he 
ruined by such a measure ; for the plain, which it was wished 
to lay under water, was a vast tract of pasture land, upon 
which about 12,000 oxen were annually put to graze. The 
objection of the butchers was successful, and they managed to 
prevent the execution of this salutary scheme, until the 
enemy had got possession of the dams as well as the pasture 
land. 

At the suggestion of the burgomaster, St. Aldegonde, who, 
himself a member of the states of Brabant, was possessed of 
great authority, in that council, the fortifications on both 
sides the Scheldt had, a short time before the arrival of the 
Spaniards, been placed in repair, and many new redoubts 
erected round the town The dams had been cut through at 
Saftingen, and the water of the West Scheldt let out over 
nearly the whole country of Waes. In the adjacent Mar 
quisate of Bergen, troops had been enlisted by the Count of 
Hohenlohe, and a Scotch regiment, under the command of 
Colonel Morgan, was already in the pay of the republic, 
while fresh reinforcements were daily expected from Eng 
land and France. Above all, the states of Holland and Zea- 
land were called upon to hasten their supplies. But after 
the enemy had taken strong positions on both sides of the 
river, and the fire of their batteries made the navigation dan- 
gerous, when place after place in Brabant fell into their 
hands, and their cavalry had cut off all communication on the 
land side, the inhabitants of Antwerp began at last to enter- 



J 06 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

tain serious apprehensions for the future. The town then 
contained 85,000 souls, and according to calculation 300,000 
quarters of corn were annually required for their support 
At the beginning of the siege neither the supply nor the 
money was wanting for the laying in of such a store ; for in 
spite of the enemy's fire, the Zealand victualling ships, taking 
advantage of the rising tide, contrived to make their w T ay to 
the town. All that was requisite, was to prevent any of the 
richer citizens from buying up these supplies, and, in case 
of scarcity, raising the price. To secure his object, one 
Gianibelli, from Mantua, who had rendered important ser- 
vices in the course of the siege, proposed a property tax 
of one penny in every hundred, and the appointment of a 
board of respectable persons to purchase corn w 7 ith this 
money, and distribute it weekly. And until the returns 
of this tax should be available, the richer classes should 
advance the required sum, holding the corn purchased, as 
a deposit, in their own magazines ; and were also to share in 
the profit. But this plan was unwelcome to the wealthier 
citizens, who had resolved to profit by the general distress. 
They recommended that every individual should be required 
to provide himself with a sufficient supply for two years ; a 
proposition which, however it might suit their own circum- 
stances, was very unreasonable in regard to the poorer inha- 
bitants, who, even before the siege, could scarely find means 
to supply themselves for so many months. They obtained, 
indeed, their object, which was to reduce the poor to the 
necessity of either quitting the place, or becoming entirely 
their dependents. But when they afterwards reflected, that 
in the time of need the rights of property would not be re- 
spected, they found it advisable not to be over hasty in making 
their own purchases. 

The magistrate, in order to avert an evil that would have 
pressed upon individuals only, had recourse to an expe- 
dient which endangered the safety of all. Some enterpris- 
ing persons in Zealand had freighted a large fleet with pro- 
visions, which succeeded in passing the guns of the enemy, 
and discharged its cargo at Antwerp. The hope of a large 
profit had tempted the merchants to enter upon this hazard 
ous speculation ; in this, however, they were disappointed, aa 
the magistrate of Antwerp had, just before their arrival, issued 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 107 

an edict, regulating the price of all the necessaries of life. 
At the same time, to prevent individuals from buying up 
the whole cargo, and storing it in their magazines, with a 
view of disposing of it afterwards at a dearer rate, he ordered 
that the whole should be publicly sold in any quantities 
from the vessels. The speculators, cheated of their hopes of 
profit by these precautions, set sail again, and left Antwerp 
with the greater part of their cargo, which would have sufficed 
for the support of the town for several months. 

This neglect of the most essential and natural means of pre- 
servation can only be explained by the supposition, that the 
inhabitants considered it absolutely impossible ever to close 
the Scheldt completely, and consequently had not the least ap- 
prehension that things would come to extremity. When the 
intelligence arrived in Antwerp that the prince intended to 
throw a bridge over the Scheldt, the idea was universally ridi 
culed as chimerical. An arrogant comparison was drawn be- 
tween the republic and the stream, and it was said, that the 
one would bear the Spanish yoke as little as the other. "A 
river which is 2400 feet broad, and, with its own waters alone, 
above sixty feet deep, but which with the tide rose twelve 
feet more — would such a stream," it was asked, "submit to be 
spanned by a miserable piece of paling ? Where were beams 
to be found, high enough to reach to the bottom and project 
above the surface ? and how was a work of this kind to stand 
in winter, when whole islands and mountains of ice, which 
stone walls could hardly resist, would be driven by the flood 
against its weak timbers, and splinter them to pieces like glass? 
Or, perhaps, the prince purposed to construct a bridge of 
boats ; if so, where would he procure the latter, and how 
bring them into his entrenchments ? They must necessarily 
be brought past Antwerp, where a fleet was ready to capture 
or sink them." 

But while they were trying to prove the absurdity of 
the Prince of Parma's undertaking, he had already com- 
pleted it. As soon as the forts St. Maria and St. Philip 
were erected, and protected the workmen and the work by 
their fire, a pier was built out into the stream from both banks, 
for which purpose the masts of the largest vessels were ein 
ployed ; by a skilful arrangement of the timbers, they con- 
trived to give the whole such solidity, that, as the result 



108 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

proved, it was able to resist the violent pressure of the ice 
These timbers, which rested firmly and securely on the bot- 
tom of the river, and projected a considerable height above it, 
being covered with planks, afforded a commodious roadway. 
It was wide enough to allow eight men to cross abreast, and a 
balustrade that ran along it on both sides, protected them 
from the fire of small arms from the enemy's vessels. This 
" Stacade," as it was called, ran from the two opposite 
shores as far as the increasing depth and force of the 
stream aLowed. It reduced the breadth of the river to 
about 1100 feet; as, however, the middle and proper current 
would not admit of such a barrier, there remained, therefore, 
between the two stacades, a space of more than six hundred 
paces, through which a whole fleet of transports could sail 
with 'iase. This intervening space, the prince designed to 
close by a bridge of boats, for which purpose the craft must 
be procured from Dunkirk. Bat besides that they could not 
be obtained in any number at that place, it would be difficult 
to bring them past Antwerp without great loss. He was, 
therefore, obliged to content himself for the time with having 
narrowed the stream one half, and rendered the passage of 
the enemy's vessels so much the more difficult. Where the 
stacades terminated in the middle of the stream, they spread 
xmt into parallelograms, which were mounted with heavy guns, 
and served as a kind of battery on the water. From these, a 
heavy fire was opened on every vessel that attempted to pass 
through this narrow channel. Whole fleets, however, and sin 
gle vessels still attempted and succeeded in passing this dan- 
gerous strait. 

Meanwhile Ghent surrendered, and this unexpected success 
at once rescued the prince from his dilemma. He found in 
this town every thing necessary to complete his bridge of 
boats ; and the only difficulty now was its safe transport, 
which was furnished by the enemy themselves. By cutting 
the dams at Saftingen, a great part of the country of Waes, 
as far as the village of Borcht, had been laid under water, so 
that it was not difficult to cross it with flat-bottomed boats. 
The prince, therefore, ordered his vessels to run out from 
Ghent, and after passing Dendermonde and Kupelmonde, to 
pass through the left dyke of the Scheldt, leaving Antwerp to 
the right, and sail over the inundated fields in the direction 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 



100 



of Borcht. To protect this passage, a fort was erected at the 
latter village, which would keep the enemy in check. All 
succeeded to his wishes, though not without a sharp action 
with the enemy's flotilla, which was sent out to intercept this 
convoy. After breaking through a few more dams on their 
route, they reached the Spanish quarters at Calloo, and suc- 
cessfully entered the Scheldt again. The exultation of the 
army w T as the greater, when they discovered the extent of 
danger the vessels had so narrowly escaped. Scarcely had they 
got quit of the enemy's vessels, when a strong reinforcement 
from Antwerp got under weigh, commanded by the valiant 
defender of Lillo, Odets von Teligny. When this officer saw 
.hat the affair was over, and that the enemy had escaped, he 
took possession of the dam through which their fleet had 
passed, and threw up a fort on the spot, in order to stop the 
passage of any vessels from Ghent, which might attempt to 
follow them. 

By this step, the prince was again thrown into embarrass 
ment. He w T as far from having, as yet, a sufficient number 
of vessels, either for the construction of the bridge, or for 
its defence, and the passage by which the former convoy 
had arrived, was now closed by the fort erected by Teligny. 
While he was reconnoitring the country to discover a new 
way for his fleets, an idea occurred to him, which not only 
put an end to his present dilemma, but great r y accelerated 
the success of his whole plan. Not far from the village of 
Stecken, in Waes, which is within some 5000 paces of the 
commencement of the inundation, flows a small stream called 
the Moer, which falls into the Scheldt near Ghent. From 
this river, he caused a canal to be dug to the spot where the 
inundations began, and as the water of these was not every 
where deep enough for the transit of his boats, the canal be- 
tween Bevern and Verrebroek was continued to Calloo, where 
it was met by the Scheldt. At this work five hundred pioneers 
laboured without intermission, and in order to cheer the toil 
of the soldiers, the prince himself took part in it. In this 
way did he imitate the example of two celebrated Romans, 
Drusus and Corbulo, who, by similar works, had united the 
Rhine with the Zuyder Zee, and the Maes with the Rhine. 

This canal, which the army in honour of its projector called 
the canal of Parma, was 14,000 paces in length, and was of 



110. SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

proportionable depth and breadth, so as to be navigable for 
ships of a considerable burden. It afforded to the vessels 
from Ghent not only a more secure, but also a much shorter 
course to the Spanish quarters, because it was no longer ne* 
cessary to follow the many windings of the Scheldt, but enter- 
ing the Moer at once near Ghent, and from thence passing 
close to Stecken, they could proceed through the canal, and 
across the inundated country as far as Calloo. As the pro- 
duce of all Flanders was brought to the town of Ghent, this 
canal placed the Spanish camp in communication with the 
whole province. Abundance poured into the camp from all 
quarters, so that during the whole course of the siege the 
Spaniards suffered no scarcity of any kind. But the greatest 
benefit which the prince derived from this work, was an ade- 
quate supply of flat-bottomed vessels to complete his bridge. 

These preparations were overtaken by the arrival of winter, 
which, as the Scheldt was filled with drift ice, occasioned a 
considerable delay in the building of the bridge. The prince 
had contemplated with anxiety the approach of this season, 
lest it should prove highly destructive to the work he had 
undertaken, and afford the enemy a favourable opportunity for 
making a serious attack upon it. But the skill of his engi- 
neers saved him from the one danger, and the strange inac- 
tion of the enemy freed him from the other. It frequently 
happened, indeed, that at flood time large pieces of ice were 
entangled in the timbers, and shook them violently, but they 
stood the assault of the furious element, which only served to 
prove their stability. 

In Antwerp meanwhile, important moments had been 
wasted in futile deliberations, and in a struggle of factions, 
the general welfare was neglected. The government of the 
town was divided among too many heads, and much too great 
a share in it was held by the riotous mob, to allow room for 
calmness of deliberation, or firmness of action. Besides the 
municipal magistracy itself, in which the burgomaster had 
only a single voice, there were in the city a number of guilds, 
to whom were consigned the charge of the internal and exter- 
nal defence, the provisioning of the town, its fortifications, 
the marine, commerce, &c. ; some of whom must be consulted 
in every business of importance. By means of this crowd of 
speakers, who intruded at pleasure into the council, and ma 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. I 1 1 

naged to carry, by clamour and the number of their adher- 
ents, what they could not effect by their arguments, the peo- 
ple obtained a dangerous influence in the public debates, and 
the natural struggle of such discordant interests retarded the 
execution of every salutary measure. A government, so vacil- 
lating and impotent, could not comand the respect of unruly 
sailors and a lawless soldiery. The orders of the state conse 
quently were but imperfectly obeyed, and the decisive mo 
ment was more than once lost by the negligence, not to say 
the open mutiny, both of the land and sea forces. 

The little harmony in the selection of the means by which 
the enemy was to be opposed, would not, however, have proved 
so injurious, had there but existed unanimity as to the end 
But on this very point the wealthy citizens and poorer classes 
were divided, for the former, having every thing to apprehend 
from allowing matters to be carried to extremity, were strongly 
inclined to treat with the Prince of Parma. This disposition 
they did not even attempt to conceal, after the fort of Lief- 
kenshoek had fallen into the enemy's hands, and serious 
fears were entertained for the navigation of the Scheldt. 
Some of them, indeed, withdrew entirely from the danger, and 
left to its fate the town whose prosperity they had been ready 
enough to share, but in whose adversity they were unwilling 
to bear a part. From sixty to seventy of those who remained 
memorialized the council, advising that terms should be made 
with the king. No sooner, however, had the populace got in 
telligence of it, than their indignation broke out in a violent 
uproar, which was with difficulty appeased by the imprison- 
ment and fining of the petitioners. Tranquillity could only 
be fully restored by the publication of an edict, which im- 
posed the penalty of death on all who either publicly or pri- 
vately should countenance proposals for peace. 

The Prince of Parma did not fail to take advantage of 
these disturbances: for nothing that transpired within the 
city escaped his notice, being well served by the agents with 
whom he maintained a secret understanding with Antwerp, 
as well as the other towns of Brabant and Flanders. Al- 
though he had already made considerable progress in his 
measures for distressing the town, still he had many steps to 
take before he could actually make himself master of it; 
and one unlucky moment might destroy the work of mairv 



il2 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

months. Without, therefore, neglecting any of his warlike 
preparations, he determined to make one more serious at- 
tempt to get possession by fair means. With this object, 
he despatched a letter in November to tho great Council 
of Antwerp, in which he skilfully made use of every 
topic likely to induce the citizens to come to terms, or at 
least to increase their existing dissensions. He treated them 
in this letter in the light of persons who had been led astray, 
and threw the whole blame of their revolt and refractory 
conduct hitherto upon the intriguing spirit of the Prince 
af Orange, from whose artifices the retributive justice of 
Heaven had so lately liberated them. " It was," he said, 
" now in their power to awake from their long infatuation, 
and return to their allegiance to a monarch, who was 
ready and anxious to be reconciled to his subjects. For 
this end, he gladly offered himself as mediator, as he 
had never ceased to love a country in which he had been 
born, and where he had spent the happiest days of his youth. 
He therefore exhorted them to send plenipotentiaries with 
whom he could arrange the conditions of peace, and gave 
them hopes of obtaining reasonable terms if they made a 
timely submission, but also threatened them with the severest 
treatment if they pushed matters to extremity." 

This letter, in which we are glad to recognise a language 
very different from that which the Duke of Alva held ten 
years before on a similar occasion, was answered by the towns- 
people in a respectful and dignified tone. While they did 
full justice to the personal character of the prince, and 
acknowledged his favourable intentions towards them with 
gratitude, they lamented the hardness of the times, which 
placed it out of his power to treat them in accordance with 
his character and disposition. They declared that they 
would gladly place their fate in his hands, if he were absolute 
master of his actions, instead of being obliged to obey the 
will of another, whose proceedings his own candour would not 
allow him to approve of. The unalterable resolution of the 
King of Spain, as well as the vow which he had made to the 
Pope, were only too well known for them to have any hopes 
in that quarter. They at the same time defended with a 
noble warmth the memory of the Prince of Orange, their 
benefactor and preserver, while they enumerated the true 



SIEGE OF ANTWEKP, 113 

^arises which had produced this unhappy war, and had caused 
the provinces to revolt from the Spanish crown. At the 
same time, they did not disguise from him that they had hopes 
of finding a new and a milder master in the King of France, 
and that, if only for this reason, they could not enter into any 
treaty with the Spanish king, without incurring the charge 
of the most culpable fickleness and ingratitude. 

The united provinces, in fact, dispirited by a succession of 
reverses, had at last come to the determination of placing 
themselves under the protection and sovereignty of France, 
and of preserving their existence and their ancient privileges 
by the sacrifice of their independence. With this view, an 
embassy had some time before been despatched to Paris, and 
it was the prospect of this powerful assistance which prin 
cipally supported the courage of the people of Antwerp 
Henry III., King of France, was personally disposed to 
accept this offer; but the troubles which the intrigues of 
the Spaniards contrived to excite within his own kingdom, 
compelled him against his will to abandon it. The provinces 
now turned for assistance to Queen Elizabeth of England, 
who sent them some supplies, which, however, came too late 
to save Antwerp. While the people of this city were awaiting 
the issue of these negociations, and expecting aid from foreign 
powers, they neglected, unfortunately, the most natural and 
immediate means of defence; the whole winter was lost, and 
while the enemy turned it to greater advantage, the more 
complete was their indecision and inactivity. 

The burgomaster of Antwerp, St. Aldegonde, had> indeed, 
repeatedly urged the fleet of Zealand to attack the enemy's 
works, which should be supported on the other side from 
Antwerp. The long and frequently stormy nights would 
favour this attempt, and if at the same time a sally were 
made by the garrison at Lillo, it seemed scarcely possible 
for the enemy to resist this triple assault. But unfortunately 
misunderstandings had arisen between the commander of the 
fleet, William von Blois von Treslong, and the Admiralty of 
Zealand, which caused the equipment of the fleet to be most 
unaccountably delayed. In order to quicken their move- 
ments, Teligny at last resolved to go himself to Middelburg, 
where the states of Zealand were assembled ; but as the 
enemy were in possession of all the roads, the attempt cost 

x 



114 SIEGE 01< ANTWERP 

him his freedom, and the republic its most valiant dfr 
fender. However, there was no want of enterprising vessels, 
which, under the favour of the night and the flood tide, 
passing through the still open bridge, in spite of the 
enemy's fire, threw provisions into the town, and returned 
with the ebb. But as many of these vessels fell into the 
hands of the enemy, the council gave orders that they should 
never risk the passage, unless they amounted to a certain 
number; and the result unfortunately was, that none at- 
tempted it, because the required number could not be collected 
at one time. Several attacks were also made from Antwerp 
on the ships of the Spaniards, which were not entirely 
unsuccessful; some of the latter were captured, others sunk, 
and all that was required was to execute similar attempts on 
a grand scale. But however zealously St. Aldegonde urged 
this, still not a captain was to be found who would command 
a vessel for that purpose. 

Amid these delays the winter expired, and scarcely had 
the ice begun to disappear, when the construction of the 
bridge of boats was actively resumed by the besiegers. 
Between the two piers, a space of more than 600 paces still 
remained to be filled up, which was effected in the following 
manner. Thirty-two flat-bottomed vessels, each sixty-six feet 
long and twenty broad, were fastened together with strong 
cables and iron chains, but at a distance from each other of 
about twenty feet, to allow a free passage to the stream. 
Each boat, moreover, was moored with two cables, both up 
and down the stream, but which, as the water rose with the 
tide, or sunk with the ebb, could be slackened or tightened. 
Upon the boats great masts were laid, which reached from 
one to another, and being covered with planks, formed a 
regular road, which, like that along the piers, was protected 
with a balustrade. This bridge of boats, of which the two 
piers formed a continuation, had, including the latter, a length 
of 24,000 paces. This formidable work was so ingeniously 
constructed, and so richly furnished with the instruments of 
destruction, that it seemed almost capable, like a living crea- 
ture, of defending itself at the word of command, scattering 
death among all who approached. Besides the two forts of 
St. Maria and St. Philip, which terminated the bridge on 
either shore, and the two wooden bastions on the bridge 



SIEGE OF ANTWEBP 115 

itself, which were filled with soldiers and mounted with guns 
on all sides, each of the two-and-thirty vessels was manned 
with thirty soldiers and four sailors, and showed the cannon's 
mouth to the enemy, whether he came up from Zealand or 
down from Antwerp. There were in all ninety-seven cannon, 
which were distributed beneath and above the bridge, and 
more than 1500 men who were posted partly in the forts, 
partly in the vessels, and in case of necessity, could main 
tain a terrible fire of small arms upon the enemy. 

But with all this, the prince did not consider his work suf 
ficiently secure. It was to be expected that the enemy would 
leave nothing unattempted to burst, by the force of his 
machines, the middle and weakest part. To guard against 
this, he erected in a line with the bridge of boats, but at 
some distance from it, another distinct defence, intended to 
break the force of any attack that might be directed against the 
bridge itself. This work consisted of thirty-three vessels of 
considerable magnitude, which were moored in a row athwart 
the stream, and fastened in threes by masts, so that they 
formed eleven different groups. Each of these, like a file of 
pikemen, presented fourteen long wooden poles, with iron 
heads to the approaching enemy. These vessels were loaded 
merely with ballast, and were anchored each by a double but 
slack cable, so as to be able to give to the rise and fall of the 
tide. As they were in constant motion, they got from the 
soldiers the name of " swimmers." The whole bridge of boats, 
and also a part of the piers was covered by these swimmers, 
which were stationed above as well as below the bridge. To 
all these defensive preparations, was added a fleet of forty 
men of war, which were stationed on both coasts, and served 
as a protection to the whole. 

This astonishing work was finished in March, 1585, the 
seventh month of the siege, and the day on which it was com- 
pleted was kept as a jubilee by the troops. The great event 
was announced to the besieged by a grand feu de joie, and 
the army, as if to enjoy ocular demonstration of its triumph, 
extended itself along the whole platform to gaze upon the 
proud stream, peacefully and obediently flowing under the 
yoke, which had been imposed upon it. All the toil they had 
undergone was forgotten in this delightful spectacle, and 
every man, who had had a hand in it, however insignificant 

I 2 



116 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

he mtght be, assumed to himself a portion of the honour, which 
the successful execution of so gigantic an enterprise conferred 
on its illustrious projector. On the other hand, nothing could 
equal the consternation which seized the citizens of Antwerp, 
when intelligence was brought them, that the Scheldt was now 
actually closed, and all access from Zealand cut off. To in- 
crease their dismay, they learned the fall of Brussels also, 
which had at last been compelled by famine to capitu- 
late. An attempt, made by the Count of Hohenlohe about 
the same time, on Herzogenbusch, with a view to recapture 
the town, or at least form a diversion, was equally unsuccess- 
ful ; and thus the unfortunate city lost all hope of assistance, 
both by sea and land. 

These evil tidings were brought them by some fugitives, 
who had succeeded in passing the Spanish videttes, and had 
made their way into the town ; and a spy, whom the Burgo- 
master had sent out to reconnoitre the enemy's works, in- 
creased the general alarm by his report. He had been seized 
and carried before the Prince of Parma, who commanded him 
to be conducted over all the works, and all the defences of the 
bridge to be pointed out to him. After this had been done, 
he was again brought before the general, who dismissed him 
with these words. " Go," said he, " and report what you 
have seen, to those who sent you. And tell them too, 
that it is my firm resolve to bury myself under the ruins of 
this bridge, or by means of it to pass into your town." 

But the certainty of danger now at last awakened the zeal 
of the confederates, and it was no fault of theirs, if the former 
half of the prince's vow was not fulfilled. The latter had long 
viewed with apprehension the preparations, which were making 
in Zealand for the relief of the town. He saw clearly that it 
was from this quarter, that he had to fear the most dangerous 
blow, and that with all his works, he could not make head 
against the combined fleets of Zealand and Antwerp, if they 
were to fall upon him at the same time, and at the proper 
moment. For a while, the delays of the Admiral of Zealand, 
which he had laboured by all the means in his power to 
prolong, had been his security ; but now the urgent necessity 
accelerated the expedition, and without waiting for the admi- 
ral, the states at Middleburg despatched the Count Justin o f 
Nassau, with as many ships as they could muster, to the as- 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP I1Y 

Bistance of the besieged. This fleet took up a position 
before Liefkenshoek, which was in possession of the Span 
iards, and supported by a few vessels from the opposite fort 
of Lillo, cannonaded it with such success, that the walls were 
in a short time demolished, and the place carried by storm 
The Walloons, who formed the garrison, did not display the 
firmness which might have been expected from soldiers of 
the Duke of Parma ; they shamefully surrendered the fort 
to the enemy, who in a short time were in possession of 
the whole Island of Doel, with all the redoubts situated upon 
it The loss of these places, which were, however, soon re 
taken, incensed the Duke of Parma so much, that he tried the 
officers by court-martial, and caused the most culpable among 
them to be beheaded. Meanwhile, this important conquest 
opened to the Zealanders a free passage as far as the bridge ; 
and after concerting with the people of Antwerp, the time was 
fixed for a combined attack on this work. It was arranged 
that, while the bridge of boats was blown up by machines 
already prepared in Antwerp, the Zealand fleet with a sufficient 
supply of provisions should be in the vicinity, ready to sail to 
the town through the opening. 

While the Duke of Parma was engaged in constructing his 
bridge, an engineer, within the walls, was already preparing 
the materials for its destruction. Frederick Gianibelli, was 
the name of the man whom fate had destined to be the Ar 
chime des of Antwerp, and to exhaust in its defence, the same 
ingenuity with the same want of success. He was born in 
Mantua, and had formerly visited Madrid, for the purpose, it 
was said, of offering his services to King Philip in the Belgian 
war. But wearied with waiting, the offended engineer left 
the court, with the intention of making the King of Spain 
sensibly feel the value of talents, which he had so little known 
how to appreciate. He next sought the service of Queen 
Elizabeth of England, the declared enemy of Spain, who, 
after witnessing a few specimens of his skill, sent him to 
Antwerp. He took up his residence in that town, and, in the 
present extremity, devoted to its defence, his knowledge, his 
energy, and his zeal. 

As soon as this artist perceived that the project of erecting 
the bridge was seriously intended, and that the work was fast 
approaching to completion, he applied to the magistracy for 



118 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

three large vessels, from a hundred and fifty to five hundred 
tons, in which he proposed to place mines. He also demanded 
sixty boats, which, fastened together with cables and chains, 
furnished with projecting grappling irons, and put in motion 
with the ebbing of the tide, were intended to second the 
operation of the mine-ships, by being directed in a wedgelike 
form against the bridge. But he had to deal with men 
who were quite incapable of comprehending an idea out of the 
common way, and even where the salvation of their country 
was at stake, could not forget the calculating habits of trade. 

His scheme was rejected as too expensive, and with diffi- 
culty he at last obtained the grant of two smaller vessels, from 
seventy to eighty tons, with a number of flat-bottomed boats. 
With these two vessels, one of which he called the " For- 
tune," and the other the " Hope," he proceeded in the fol- 
lowing manner. In the hold of each, he built a hollow cham- 
ber of freestone, five feet broad, three and a half high, and forty 
long. This magazine he filled with sixty hundredweight of the 
finest priming powder, of his own compounding, and covered it 
with as heavy a weight of large slabs and millstones, as the 
vessels could carry. Over these he further added a roof 
of similar stones, which ran up to a point, and projected six 
feet above the ship's side. The deck itself was crammed 
with iron chains and hooks, knives, nails, and other destruc- 
tive missiles ; the remaining space, which was not occu- 
pied by the magazine, was likewise filled up with planks. 
Several small apertures were left in the chamber for the 
matches, which were to set fire to the mine. For greater 
certainty, he had also contrived a piece of mechanism, which, 
after the lapse of a given time, would strike out sparks, and 
even if the matches failed, would set the ship on fire. . To 
delude the enemy into a belief, that these machines were only 
intended to set the bridge on fire, a composition of brimstone 
and pitch w 7 as placed in the top, which could burn a whole hour. 
And still further to divert the enemy's attention from the 
proper seat of danger, he also prepared thirty-two small flat- 
bottomed boats, upon which there were only fireworks burning, 
and whose sole object was to deceive the enemy. These fire- 
ships w r ere to be sent down upon the bridge, in four separate 
squadrons, at intervals of half an hour, and keep the enemy inces- 
santly engaged for two whole hours, so that, tired of firing, and 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 119 

wearied by vain expectation, they might at last relax their 
vigilance, before the real fireships came. In addition to all 
this, he also despatched a few vessels in which powder was 
concealed, in order to blow up the floating work before the 
bridge, and to clear a passage for the two principal ships. 
At the same time, he hoped by this preliminary attack to en 
gage the enemy's attention, to draw them out, and expose 
them to the full deadly effect of the volcano. 

The night between the 4th and 5th of April was fixed for 
the execution of this great undertaking. An obscure rumour 
of it had already diffused itself through the Spanish camp, 
and particularly from the circumstance of many divers from 
Antwerp having been detected, endeavouring to cut the cables 
of the vessels. They were prepared, therefore, for a serious 
attack ; they only mistook the real nature of it, and counted 
on having to fight rather with man than the elements. In 
this expectation, the duke caused the guards along the whole 
bank to be doubled, and drew up the chief part of his troops 
in the vicinity of the bridge, where he was present in person ; 
thus meeting the danger while endeavouring to avoid it. No 
sooner was it dark, then three burning vessels were seen to 
float dow r n from the city towards the bridge, then three more, 
and directly after the same number. They beat to arms 
throughout the Spanish camp, and the whole length of the 
bridge was crowded with soldiers. Meantime, the number 
of the fireships increased, and they came in regular order 
down the stream, sometimes two, and sometimes three abreast, 
being at first steered by sailors on board them. The Admiral 
of the Antwerp fleet, Jacob Jacobson, (whether designedly, or 
through carelessness, was not known,) had committed the 
error of sending off the four squadrons of fireships too quickly 
one after another, and caused the two large mine-ships also 
to follow them too soon, and thus disturbed the intended 
order of attack 

The array of vessels kept approaching, and the darknes? 
of night still further heightened the extraordinary specta- 
cle. As far as the eye could follow the course of the 
stream, all was fire ; the fireships burning as brilliantly 
as if they were themselves in the flames ; the. surface of 
the water glittered with light ; the dykes and the batteries 
along the shore, the flags, arms, and accoutrements of the 



120 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

soldiers, who lined the rivers as well as the bridge, were 
clearly distinguishable in the glare. With a mingled sens- 
ation of awe and pleasure, the soldiers watched the unusual 
sight, which rather resembled a fete than a hostile prepara- 
tion, but from the very strangeness of the contrast filled the 
mind with a mysterious awe. When the burning fleet had 
come within 2,000 paces of the bridge, those who had the 
charge of it lighted the matches, impelled the two mine- 
vessels into the middle of the stream, and leaving the others 
to the guidance of the current of the waves, they hastily 
made their escape in boats, which had been kept in readiness. 
Their course, however, was irregular, and, destitute of 
steersmen, they arrived singly and separately at the floating 
works, where they either continued hanging, or were dashed 
off sidewise on the shore. The foremost powder-ships, which 
were intended to set fire to the floating works, were cast by 
the force of a squall, which arose at that instant, on the 
Flemish coast ; one of the two, the " Fortune," grounded 
in its passage, before it reached the bridge, and killed by its 
explosion some Spanish soldiers, who were at work in a 
neighbouring battery. The other and larger fireship, called 
the " Hope," narrowly escaped a similar fate. The current 
drove her against the floating defences towards the Flemish 
bank, where it remained hanging ; and had it taken fire at 
that moment the greatest part of its effect would have been 
lost. Deceived by the flames, which this machine, like the 
other vessels, emitted, the Spaniards took it for a common 
fireship, intended to burn the bridge of boats. And as 
they had seen them extinguished one after the other without 
further effect, all fears were dispelled, and the Spaniards 
began to ridicule the preparations of the enemy, which 
had been ushered in with so much display, and now had so 
absurd an end. Some of the boldest threw themselves into 
the stream, in order to get a close view of the fireship, and 
extinguish it, when, by its weight, it suddenly broke through, 
burst the floating work which had detained it, and drove with 
terrible force on the bridge of boats. All was now in com- 
motion on the bridge, and the prince called to the sailors to 
keep the vessel off with poles, and to extinguish the flames 
before they caught the timbers. 

At this critical moment, he was standing at the farthest end 



SIEGE OF ANTWEKP. 121 

of the left pier, where it formed a bastion in the water, and 
joined the bridge of boats. By his side stood the Margrave 
of Bysburg, general of cavalry, and governor of the province 
of Artois, who had formerly served the states, but from a pro- 
tector of the republic had become its worst enemy ; the Baron 
of Billy, Governor of Friesland, and commander of the Ger- 
man regiments; the Generals Cajetan and Guasto, with 
several of the principal officers ; all forgetful of their own 
danger, and entirely occupied with averting the general 
calamity. At this moment, a Spanish ensign approached the 
Prince of Parma, and conjured him to remove from a place, 
where his life was in manifest and imminent peril. No at- 
tention being paid to his entreaty, he repeated it still more 
urgently, and at last fell at his feet, and implored him in this 
one instance to take advice from his servant. While he 
said this, he had laid hold of the duke's coat, as though he 
wished forcibly to draw him away from the spot, and the 
latter, surprised rather at the man's boldness, than persuaded 
by his arguments, retired at last to the shore attended by 
Cajetan and Guasto. He had scarcely time to reach the fort 
St. Maria, at the end of the bridge, when an explosion took 
place behind him, just as if the earth had burst, or the vault 
of heaven given way. The duke and his whole army fell 
to the ground as dead, and several minutes elapsed before 
they recovered their consciousness 

But then what a sight presented itself! The waters of 
the Scheldt had been divided to its lowest depth, and driven 
with a surge, which rose like a wall above the dam that con- 
fined it ; so that all the fortifications on the banks were several 
feet under water. The earth shook for three miles round. 
Nearly the whole left pier, on which thefireship had been driven, 
with a part of the bridge of boats, had been burst and shattered 
to atoms, with all that was upon it ; spars, cannon, and men, 
blown into the air. Even the enormous blocks of stone which 
had covered the mine, had, by the force of the explosion, been 
hurled into the neighbouring fields, so that many of them 
were afterwards dug out of the ground at the distance of a 
thousand paces from the bridge. Six vessels were buried, 
several had gone to pieces. But still more terrible was tho 
carnage, which the murderous machine had dealt amongst the 



12*2 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

soldiers. ¥ive hundred, according to other reports even eight 
hundred, were sacrificed to its fury, without reckoning those who 
escaped with mutilated or injured bodies. The most opposite 
kinds of death were combined in this frightful moment. 
Some were consumed by the flames of the explosion, others 
sca]ded to death by the boiling water of the river, others 
stifled by the poisonous vapour of the brimstone ; some were 
drowned in the stream, some buried under the hail of falling 
masses of rock, many cut to pieces by the knrves and hooks, 
or shattered by the balls, which were poured from the bowels 
of the machine. Some were found lifeless without any visible 
injury, having in all probability been killed by the mere con- 
cussion of the air. The spectacle, which presented itself 
directly after the firing of the mine, was fearful. Men 
were seen wedged between the palisades of the bridge, or 
struggling to free themselves from beneath ponderous masses 
of rock, or hanging in the rigging of the ships ; and from all 
places and quarters the most heart-rending cries for help 
arose, but as each was absorbed in his own safety, these could 
only be answered by helpless wailings. 

Many had escaped in the most wonderful manner. An 
officer, named Tucci, was carried by the whMwind, like a 
feather, high into the air, where he was for a moment sus 
pended, and then dropped into the river, where he saved 
himself by swimming. Another, was taken up by the force 
of the blast from the Flanders shore, and deposited on 
that of Brabant, incurring merely a slight contusion on 
the shoulder ; he felt, as he afterwards said, during this 
rapid aerial transit, just as if he had been fired out of a cannon. 
The Prince of Parma himself had never been so near death, 
as at that moment, when half a minute saved his life. He 
had scarcely set foot in the fort of St. Maria, when he was 
lifted off his feet, as if by a hurricane ; and a beam, which 
struck him on the head and shoulders, stretched him sense- 
less on the earth. For a long time he was believed to be 
actually killed, many remembering to have seen him on 
the bridge only a few minutes before the fatal explosion. He 
was found at last between his attendants, Cajetanand Guasto, 
raising himself up with his hand on his sword ; and the in 
telligence stirred the spirits of the whole army. But vain 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 123 

would be the attempt to depict his feelings, when he sur- 
veyed the devastation, which a single moment had caused 
in the work of so many months. The bridge of boats, upon 
which all his hopes rested, was rent asunder ; a great part of 
his army was destroyed ; another portion maimed and render- 
ed ineffective for many days ; many of his best officers were 
killed ; and as if the present calamity were not sufficient, he 
had now to learn the painful intelligence, that the Margrave 
of Eysburg, whom of all his officers he prized the highest, 
was missing. And yet the worst was still to come, for 
every moment the fleets of the enemy were to be expected 
from Antwerp and Lillo, to which this fearful position of the 
army would disable him from offering any effectual resistance. 
The bridge was entirely destroyed, and nothing could prevent 
the fleet from Zealand passing through in full sail ; while the 
confusion of the troops in this first moment was so great and 
general, that it would have been impossible to give or obey 
orders, as many corps had lost their commanding officers, and 
many commanders their corps ; and even the places where 
they had been stationed were no longer to be recognised amid 
the general ruin. Add to this, that all the batteries on shore 
were under water, that several cannon were sunk, that the 
matches were wet, and the ammunition damaged. What a 
moment for the enemy, if they had known how to avail 
themselves of it ! 

It will scarcely be believed, however, that this success, which 
surpassed all expectation, was lost to Antwerp, simply because 
nothing was known of it. St. Aldegonde, indeed, as soon 
as the explosion of the mine was heard in the town, had 
sent out several galleys in the direction of the bridge, 
with orders to send up fireballs and rockets the moment 
they had passed it, and then to sail with the intelligence 
straight on to Lillo, in order to bring up, without delay, 
the Zealand fleet, which had orders to co-operate. At the 
same time, the Admiral of Antwerp was ordered, as soon as 
the signal was given, to sail out with his vessels, and attack 
the enemy in their first consternation. But although a con- 
siderable reward was promised to the boatmen sent to recon 
noitre, they did not venture near the enemy, but returned 
without effecting their purpose, and reported that the bridge 
of boats was uninjured, and the fire-ship had had no effect. 



12 t SIEGE OF ANTWERP 

Even on the following day, also, no better measures were 
taken to learn the true state of the bridge ; and as the fleet at 
Lillo, in spite of the favourable wind, was seen to remain in- 
active, the belief that the fire-ships had accomplished nothing 
was confirmed. It did not seem to occur to any one, that this 
very inactivity of the confederates, which misled the people of 
Antwerp, might also keep back the Zealanders at Lillo, as 
in fact it did. So signal an instance of neglect could only 
have occurred in a government, which, without dignity or 
independence, was guided by the tumultuous multitude it 
ought to have governed. The more supine, however, they 
were themselves in opposing the enemy, the more violently 
did their rage boil against Gianibelli, whom the frantic mob 
would have torn in pieces, if they could have caught him 
For two days the engineer was in the most imminent danger, 
until at last, on the third morning, a courier from Lillo, who 
had swum under the bridge, brought authentic intelligence of 
its having been destroyed, but at the same time announced 
that it had been repaired. 

This rapid restoration of the bridge was really a miraculous 
effort of the Prince of Parma. Scarcely had he recovered 
from the shock, which seemed to have overthrown all his 
plans, when he contrived, with wonderful presence of mind, 
to prevent all its evil consequences. The absence of the 
enemy's fleet, at this decisive moment, revived his hopes. 
The ruinous state of the bridge appeared to be a secret to 
them, and though it was impossible to repair, in a few hours, 
the work of so many months, yet a great point would be gained 
if it could be done even in appearance. All his men were 
immediately set to work to remove the ruins, to raise the 
timbers which had been thrown down, to replace those which 
were demolished, and to fill up the chasms with ships. 
The duke himself did not refuse to share in the toil, and his 
exampie was followed by all his officers. Stimulated by this 
popular behaviour, the common soldiers exerted themselves to 
the utmost ; the work was carried on during the w T hole night 
under the constant sounding of drums and trumpets, which 
were distributed along the bridge to drown the noise of 
the work-people. With dawn of day, few traces remained 
of the night's havoc ; and although the bridge was re- 
stored only in appearance, it nevertheless deceived the spy 



SIEGE OF ANTWEKP 125 

and consequently no attack was made upon it. In the mean 
time, the prince contrived to make the repairs solid, nay, 
even to introduce some essential alterations in the struc- 
ture In order to guard against similar accidents for the 
future, a part of the bridge of boats was made moveable, so 
that, in case of necessity, it could be taken away, and a pas- 
sage opened to the fire-ships. His loss of men was supplied 
from the garrisons of the adjoining places, and by a German 
regiment which arrived very opportunely from Gueldres. He 
rilled up the vacancies of the officers who were killed, and in 
doing this, he did not forget the Spanish ensign who had saved 
his life. 

The people of Antwerp, after learning the success of their 
mine-ship, now did homage to the inventor with as much ex- 
travagance, as they had a short time before mistrusted him, 
and they encouraged his genius to new attempts Gianibelli 
now actually obtained the number of flat-bottomed vessels 
which he had at first demanded in vain, and these he equipped 
in such a manner, that they struck with irresistible force on 
the bridge, and a second time also burst and separated it. 
But this time, the wind was contrary to the Zealand fleet, 
so that they could not put out, and thus the prince obtained 
once more the necessary respite to repair the damage. The 
Archimedes of Antwerp was not deterred by any of these dis- 
appointments. Anew he fitted out two large vessels, which 
were armed with iron hooks and similar instruments, in order 
to tear asunder the bridge. But when the moment came for 
these vessels to get under weigh, no one was found ready to em- 
bark in them. The engineer was therefore obliged to think 
of a plan for giving to these machines such a self-impulse, 
that, without being guided by a steersman, they would keep 
the middle of the stream, and not, like the former ones, be 
driven on the bank by the wind. One of his workmen, a 
German, here hit upon a strange invention, if Strada's de- 
scription of it is to be credited. He affixed a sail under the 
vessel, which was to be acted upon by the water, just as an 
ordinary sail is by the wind, and could thus impel the ship 
with the whole force of the current. The result proved the 
correctness of his calculation ; for this vessel, with the position 
of its sails reversed, not only kept the centre of the stream. 
but also ran against the bridge with such impetuosity that the 



J 26 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

enemy had not time to open it, and it was actually burst 
asunder. But all these results were of no service to the 
town, because the attempts were made at random, and were 
supported by no adequate force. A new fire-ship, equip- 
ped like the former, which had succeeded so well, and which 
Gianibelli had filled with 4000 lbs. of the finest powder, 
was not even used ; for a new mode of attempting their 
deliverance had now occurred to the people of Antwerp. 

Terrified, by so many futile attempts, from endeavouring U 
clear a passage for vessels on the river by force, they at last 
came to the determination of doing without the stream en- 
tirely. They remembered the example of the town of Leyden, 
which, when besieged by the Spaniards ten years before, had 
saved itself by opportunely inundating the surrounding coun- 
try, and it was resolved to imitate this example. Between 
Lillo and Stabroek, in the district of Bergen, a wide and 
somewhat sloping plain extends as far as Antwerp, being pro- 
tected by numerous embankments and counter-embankments 
against the irruptions of the East Scheldt. Nothing more was 
requisite than to break these dams, when the whole plain 
would become a sea, navigable by flat-bottomed vessels almost 
to the very walls of Antwerp. If this attempt should succeed, 
the Duke of Parma might keep the Scheldt guarded with his 
bridge of boats as long as he pleased ; a new river would be 
formed, which, in case of necessity, would be equally service- 
able for the time. This was the very plan which the Prince of 
Orange had, at the commencement of the siege, recommended, 
and in which he had been strenuously, but unsuccessfully, 
seconded by St. Aldegonde, because some of the citizens could 
not be persuaded to sacrifice their own fields. In the present 
emergency they reverted to this last resource, but circum- 
stances in the mean time had greatly changed. 

The plain in question is intersected by a broad and high 
dam, which takes its name from the adjacent Castle of Cowen- 
stein, and extends for three miles from the village of Stabroek, 
in Bergen, as far as the Scheldt, with the great dam of which 
it unites near Ordam. Beyond this dam no vessels can pro- 
ceed, however high the tide, and the sea would be vainly 
turned into the fields as long as such an embankment re- 
mained in the way, which would prevent the Zealand vessels 
from descending into the plain before Antwerp. The fate of 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 127 

the town would therefore depend upon the demolition of this 
Cowenstein dam; but, foreseeing this, the Prince of Parma 
had, immediately on commencing the blockade, taken posses- 
sion of it, and spared no pains to render it tenable to the last. 
At the village of Stabroek, Count Mansfeld was encamped with 
the greatest part of his army, and by means of this very 
Cowenstein dam kept open the communication with the 
bridge, the head quarters, and the Spanish magazines at 
Calloo. Thus the army formed an uninterrupted line from 
Stabroek in Brabant, as far as Bevern in Flanders, inter- 
sected indeed, but not broken, by the Scheldt, and which could 
not be cut off without a sanguinary conflict. On the dam 
itself, within proper distances, five different batteries had been 
erected, the command of which was given to the most valiant 
officers in the army. Nay, as the Prince of Parma could not 
doubt that now the whole fury of the war would be turned to 
this point, he entrusted the defence of the bridge to Count 
Mansfeld, and resolved to defend this important post himself. 
The war, therefore, now assumed a different aspect, and the 
theatre of it was entirely changed. 

Both above and below Lillo, the Netherlanders had in 
several places cut through the dam, which follows the Brabant 
shore of the Scheldt; and where a short time before had been 
green fields, a new element now presented itself, studded 
with masts and boats. A Zealand fleet, commanded by Count 
Hohenlohe, navigated the inundated fields, and made repeated 
movements against the Cowenstein dam, without, however, 
attempting a serious attack on it, while another fleet showed 
itself in the Scheldt, threateneng the two coasts alternately 
with a landing, and occasionally the bridge of boats with an 
attack. For several days, this manoeuvre was practised on 
the enemy, who, uncertain of the quarter whence an attack 
was to be expected, would, it was hoped, be exhausted by 
continual watching, and by degrees lulled into security by 
so many false alarms. Antwerp had promised Count Ho- 
henlohe to support the attack on the dam by a flotilla from 
the town ; three beacons on the principal tower were to be 
the signal that this was on the way. When, therefore, on 
a dark night, the expected columns of fire really ascended 
above Antwerp, Count Hohenlohe immediately caused 500 
of his troops to scale the dam between two of the enemy's 



128 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

redoubts, who surprised part of the Spanish garrison asleep, 
and cut down the others, who attempted to defend themselves 
In a short time, they had gained a firm footing upon the dam, 
and were just on the point of disembarking the remainder 
of their force, 2000 in number, when the Spaniards in 
the adjoining redoubts marched out, and favoured by the 
narrowness of the ground, made a desperate attack on 
the crowded Zealanders The guns from the neighbouring 
batteries opened upon the approaching fleet, and thus ren- 
dered the landing of the remaining troops impossible ; and 
as there were no signs of co-operation on the part of the 
city, the Zealanders were overpowered after a short conflict, 
and again driven down from the dam The victorious 
Spaniards pursued them through the water as far as their 
boats, sunk many of the latter, and compelled the rest to 
retreat with heavy loss. Count Hohenlohe threw the blame 
of this defeat upon the inhabitants of Antwerp, who had 
deceived him by a false signal, and it certainly must be 
attributed to the bad arrangement of both parties, that the 
attempt failed of better success. 

But at last the allies determined to make a systematic 
assault on the enemy with their combined force, and to put 
an end to the siege by a grand attack, as well on the dam as 
on the bridge. The 16th of May, 1585, was fixed upon for 
the execution of this design, and both armies used their 
utmost endeavours to make this day decisive. The force 
of the Hollanders and Zealanders, united to that of Antwerp, 
exceeded 200 ships, to man which they had stripped their 
towns and citadels, and with this force they purposed to 
attack the Cowenstein dam on both sides. The bridge over 
the Scheldt was to be assailed with new machines of Giani- 
belli's invention, and the Duke of Parma thereby hindered 
from assisting the defence of the dam. 

Alexander, apprised of the danger which threatened him^ 
spared nothing on his side to meet it with energy. Imme- 
diately after getting possession of the dam, he had caused 
redoubts to be erected at five different places, and had given 
the command of them to the most experienced officers of the 
army. The first of these, which was called the Cross Battery, 
was erected on the spot where the Cowenstein dam enters 
the great embankment of the Scheldt, and makes with the 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 129 

latter the form of a cross ; the Spaniard, Mondragone, was 
appointed to the command of this battery. A thousand paces 
farther on, near the castle of Cowenstein, was posted the 
battery of St. James, which was entrusted to the command 
of Camillo de Monte. At an equal distance from this, lay 
the battery of St. George, and at a thousand paces from the 
latter, the Pile Battery, under the command of Gamboa, so 
called from the pile- work on which it rested ; at the farthest 
end of the dam, near Stabroek, was the fifth redoubt, where 
Count Mansfeld, with Capizucchi, an Italian, commanded. 
All these forts the prince now strengthened with artillery 
and men ; on both sides of the dam, and along its whole 
extent, he caused piles to be driven, as well to render the 
main embankment firmer, as to impede the labour of the 
pioneers, who were to dig through it. 

Early on the morning of the 16th of May, the enemy's 
forces were in motion. With the dusk of dawn, there came 
floating down from Lillo, over the inundated country, four 
burning vessels, which so alarmed the guards upon the dams, 
who recollected the former terrible explosion, that they hastily 
retreated to the next battery. This was exactly what the 
enemy desired. In these vessels, which had merely the 
appearance of fire-ships, soldiers were concealed, who now 
suddenly jumped ashore, and succeeded in mounting the dam 
at the undefended spot, between the St. George and Pile 
batteries. Immediately afterward, the whole Zealand fleet 
showed itself, consisting of numerous ships of war, transports, 
and a crowd of smaller craft, which were laden with great 
sacks of earth, wool, fascines, gabions, and the like, for 
throwing up breastworks, wherever necessary. The ships 
of war were furnished with powerful artillery, and numerously 
and bravely manned, and a whole army of pioneers accom- 
panied it, in order to dig through the dam as soon as it 
should be in their possession. 

The Zealanders had scarcely begun on their side to ascend 
the dam, when the fleet of Antwerp advanced from Osterweel, 
and attacked it on the other. A high breastwork was hastily 
thrown up between the two nearest hostile batteries, so as at 
once to divide the two garrisons and to cover the pioneers. 
The latter, several hundreds in number, now fell to work 
with their spades on both sides of the dam, and dug with 

K 



180 SLfiGE OF ANTWERP. 

such energy, that hopes were entertained of soon seeing tho 
two seas united. But, meanwhile, the Spaniards also had 
gained time to hasten to the spot from the two nearest re- 
doubts, and make a spirited assault, while the guns from the 
battery of St. George played incessantly on the enemy's fleet. 
A furious battle now raged in the quarter where they were 
cutting through the dike, and throwing up the breastwork. 
The Zealanders had drawn a strong line of troops round the 
pioneers, to keep the enemy from interrupting their work ; 
and in this confusion of battle, in the midst of a storm of 
bullets from the enemy, often up to the breast in water, 
among the dead and dying, the pioneers pursued their work, 
under the incessant exhortations of the merchants, who im- 
patiently waited to see the dam opened and their vessels in 
safety. The importance of the result, which it might be 
said depended entirely upon their spades, appeared to animate 
even the common labourers with heroic courage. Solely in- 
tent upon their task, they neither saw nor heard the work of 
death, which was going on around them, and as fast as the 
foremost ranks fell, those behind them pressed into their 
places. Their operations were greatly impeded by the piles 
which had been driven in, but still more by the attacks of 
the Spaniards, who burst with desperate courage through the 
thickest of the enemy, stabbed the pioneers in the pits where 
they were digging, and filled up again with dead bodies, the 
cavities which the living had made. At last, however, when 
most of their officers were killed or wounded, and the number 
of the enemy constantly increasing, while fresh labourers were 
supplying the place of those who had been slain, the courage 
of these valiant troops began to give way, and they thought 
it advisable to retreat to their batteries. Now, therefore, the 
confederates saw themselves masters of the whole extent of 
the dam, from Fort St. George as far as the Pile Battery 
As, however, it seemed too long to wait for the thorough 
demolition of the dam, they hastily unloaded a Zealand 
transport, and brought the cargo over the dam to a vessel of 
Antwerp, with which Count Hohenlohe sailed in triumph 
to that city. The sight of the provisions at once filled the 
inhabitants with joy, and as if the victory was already won, 
they gave themselves up to the wildest exultation. The 
bells were rung, the cannon discharged, and the inhabitants 



SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 131 

transported at their unexpected success, hurried to the Oster 
weel gate, to await the store ships, which were supposed to 
be at hand. 

In fact, fortune had never smiled so favourably on the be- 
sieged as at that moment. The enemy, exhausted and dis- 
pirited, had thrown themselves into their batteries, and far 
from being able to struggle with the victors for the post they 
had conquered, they found themselves rather besieged in the 
places where they had taken refuge. Some companies of 
Scots, led by their brave colonel, Balfour, attacked the bat- 
tery of St. George, which, however, was relieved, but not 
without severe loss, by Camillo di Monte, who hastened 
thither from the St. James's battery. The Pile battery was in 
a much worse condition, it being hotly cannonaded by the 
ships, and threatened every moment to crumble to pieces ; 
Gamboa, who commanded it, lay wounded, and it was unfor- 
tunately deficient in artillery to keep the enemy at a distance. 
The breastwork, too, which the Zealanders had thrown up be- 
tween this battery and that of St. George, cut off all hope of 
assistance from the Scheldt. If, therefore, the Belgians had 
only taken advantage of this weakness and inactivity of the 
enemy, to proceed with zeal and perseverance in cutting 
through the dam, there is no doubt that a passage might have 
been made and thus put an end to the whole siege. But 
here also, the same want of consistent energy showed itself, 
which had marked the conduct of the people of Antwerp dur- 
ing the whole course of the siege. The zeal with which the 
work had been commenced, cooled in proportion to the success 
which attended it. It was soon found too tedious to dig 
through the dyke ; it seemed far easier to transfer the cargoes 
from the large store-ships into smaller ones, and carry these to 
the town with the flood tide. St. Aldegonde and Hohenlohe, 
instead of remaining to animate the industry of the workmen 
by their personal presence, left the scene of action in the de- 
cisive moment, in order by sailing to the town with a corn 
vessel, to win encomiums on their wisdom and valour. 

While both parties were fighting on the dam with the most 
obstinate fury, the bridge over the Scheldt had been attacked 
from Antwerp, with new machines, in order to give employ- 
ment to the prince in that quarter. But the sound of the 
firing soon apprised him of what was going on at the dyke, 

k 2 



i32 SIEGE OF ANTWERP. 

and as soon as he saw the bridge clear, he hastened to sup- 
port the defence of the dyke. Followed by two hundred Spa- 
nish pikemen, he flew to the place of attack, and arrived just 
in time to prevent the complete defeat of his troops. He 
hastily posted some guns, which he had brought with him, in 
the two nearest redoubts, and maintained from thence a heavy 
fire upon the enemy's ships. He placed himself at the head 
of his men, and with his sword in one hand and shield in the 
other, led them against the enemy. The news of his arrival, 
which quickly spread from one end of the dyke to the other, 
revived the drooping spirits of his troops, and the conflict 
recommenced with renewed violence, made still more mur- 
derous by the nature of the ground where it was fought. 
Upon the narrow ridge of the dam, which in many places was 
not more than nine paces broad, about five thousand com- 
batants were fighting ; so confined was the spot upon which the 
strength of both armies was assembled, and which was to de- 
cide the whole issue of the siege. With the Antwerpers the 
last bulwark of their city was at stake, with the Spaniards it 
was to determine the whole success of their undertaking. 
Both parties fought with a courage, which despair alone could 
inspire. From both the extremities of the dam, the tide of 
war rolled itself towards the centre, where the Zealanders and 
Antwerpers had the advantage, and where they had collected 
their whole strength. The Italians and Spaniards, inflamed 
by a noble emulation, pressed on from Stabroek ; and from the 
Scheldt, the Walloons and Spaniards advanced with their ge- 
neral at their head. While the former endeavoured to relieve 
the Pile battery, which was hotly pressed by the enemy both 
by sea and land, the latter threw themselves on the breast- 
work, between the St. George and the Pile batteries, with a 
fury which carried everything before it. Here the flower of 
the Belgian troops fought behind a well-fortified rampart. 
and the guns of the two fleets covered this important post 
The prince was already pressing forward to attack this formid- 
able defence with his small army, when he received intelli 
gence that the Italians and Spaniards, under Capizucchi and 
Aquila, had forced their way, sword in hand, into the Pile bat- 
tery, haa got possession of it, and were now likewise advancing 
from the other side against the enemy's breastwork. Before 
this entrenchment, therefore, the whole force of both armies 



SIEUE OF ANTWERP. 133 

was now collected, and both sides used their utmost efforts to 
carry and to defend this position. The Netherlanders on 
board the fleet, loath to remain idle spectators of the con- 
flict, sprang ashore from their vessels. Alexander attacked 
the breastwork on one side, Count Mansfeld on the other ; five 
assaults were made, and five times they were repulsed. The 
Netherlanders, in this decisive moment, surpassed themselves ; 
never in the whole course of the war had they fought with 
such determination. But it was the Scotch and English in 
particular, who baffled the attempts of the enemy by their va- 
liant resistance. As no one would advance to the attack in 
the quarter where the Scotch fought, the duke himself led on 
the troops, with a javelin in his hand, and up to his breast in 
water. At last, after a protracted struggle, the forces of Count 
Mansfeld succeeded with their halberds and pikes, in making 
a breach in the breastwork, and by raising themselves on one 
another's shoulders, scaled the parapet. Barthelemy Toralva, 
a Spanish captain, was the first who showed himself on the 
top ; and almost at the same instant, the Italian Capizucchi 
appeared upon the edge of it ; and thus the contest of valour 
was decided with equal glory for both nations. It is worth 
while to notice here, the manner in which the Prince of Parma, 
who was made arbiter of this emulous strife, encouraged this 
delicate sense of honour among his warriors. He embraced 
the Italian Capizucchi in presence of the troops, and acknow- 
ledged aloud that it was principally to the courage of this 
officer that he owed the capture of the breastwork. He caused 
the Spauish Captain Toralva, who was dangerously wounded, 
to be conveyed to his own quarters at Stabroek, laid on his 
own bed, and covered with the cloak which he himself had 
worn the day before the battle. 

After the capture of the breastwork, the victory no longer 
remained doubtful. The Dutch and Zealand troops, who had 
disembarked to come to close action with the enemy, at once 
lost their courage, when they looked about them and saw 
the vessels, which were their last refuge, putting off from the 
shore. 

For the tide had began to ebb, and the commanders of the 
fleet, fromfear of being stranded with their heavy transports, and, 
in case of an unfortunate issue to the engagement, becoming the 
prey of the enemy, retired from the dam, and made for deep 



(34 SIEGE OF ANTWERP 

water. No sooner did Alexander perceive this, than he point- 
ed out to his troops the flying vessels, and encouraged them 
to finish the action with an enemy, who already despaired of 
their safety. The Dutch auxiliaries were the first that gave 
way, and their example was soon followed hy the Zealanders. 
Hastily leaping from the dam, they endeavoured to reach the 
vessels by wading or swimming; but from their disorderly 
flight, they impeded one another, and fell in heaps under the 
swords of the pursuers. Many perished even in the boats, as 
each strove to get on board before the other, and several ves- 
sels sank under the weight of the numbers who rushed into 
them. The Antwerpers, who fought for their liberty, their 
hearths, their faith, were the last who retreated, but this very 
circumstance augmented their disaster. Mary of their ves- 
sels were outstripped by the ebb-tide, and grounded within 
reach of the enemy's cannon, and were consequently destroyed 
with all on board. Crowds of fugitives endeavoured by swim- 
ming to gain the other transports, which had got into deep 
water ; but such was the rage and boldness of the Spaniards, 
that they swam after them with their swords between their 
teeth, and dragged many even from the ships. The victory 
of the king's troops was complete, but bloody ; for of the Spa- 
niards about 800, of the Netherlander some thousands (with- 
out reckoning those who were drowned) were left on the field, 
and on both sides many of the principal nobility perished. 
More than thirty vessels, with a large supply of provisions for 
Antwerp, fell into the hands of the victors, with 150 cannon 
and other military stores. The dam, the possession of which 
had been so dearly maintained, was pierced in thirteen differ- 
ent places, and the bodies of those who had cut through it were 
now used to stop up the openings. 

The following day, a transport of immense size and singular 
construction, fell into the hands of the royalists. It formed 
a floating castle, and had been destined for the attack on the 
Cowenstein dam. The people of Antwerp had built it at an 
immense expense, at the very time when the engineer Giani 
belli's useful proposals had been rejected, on account of the 
cost they entailed, and this ridiculous monster was called by 
the proud title of " End of the War," which appellation was 
afterwards changed for the more appropriate sobriquet of 
« Money lost ! " When this vessel was launched, it turned 



SIEGK op ANTWERP. ! 35 

out, as every sensible person had foretold, that on account of 
its unwieldy size it was utterly impossible to steer it, and it 
could hardly be floated by the highest tide. With great 
difficulty it was worked as far as Ordam, where, deserted by 
the tide, it went aground, and fell a prey to the enemy. 

The attack upon the Cowenstein dam was the last attempt 
^hich was made to relieve Antwerp. From this time, the 
courage of the besieged sank, and the magistracy of the town, 
vainly laboured to inspirit with distant hopes the lower orders, 
on whom the present distress weighed heaviest. Hitherto 
the price of bread had been kept down to a tolerable rate, al- 
though the quality of it continued to deteriorate ; by degrees, 
however, provisions became so scarce, that a famine was evi 
dently near at hand. Still hopes were entertained of being 
able to hold out, at least, until the corn 1 "ween the town and 
the farthest batteries, which was already m full ear, could be 
reaped ; but before that could be done, the enemy had carried 
the last outwork, and had appropriated the whole harvest to 
their use. At last the neighbouring and confederate town of 
Malines fell into the enemy's hands, and with its fall vanished 
the only remaining hope of getting supplies from Brabant. As 
there was, therefore, no longer any means of increasing the stock 
of provisions, nothing was left but to diminish the consumers. 
All useless persons, all strangers, nay even the women and 
children were to be sent away out of the town, but this pro- 
posal was too revolting to humanity to be carried into execution. 
Another plan, that of expelling the Catholic inhabitants, exas- 
perated them so much, that it had almost ended in open mu- 
tiny. And thus St. Aldegonde at last saw himself compelled 
to yield to the riotous clamours of the populace, and on the 
17th of August, 1585, to make overtures to the Duke of 
Parma for the surrender of the town. 



THE EKI>. 



WALLEN STEIN'S CAMP, 

TRANSLATED BY JAMES CHURCHILL. 

THE PICCOLOMINI, 

AND 

THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, 

BY S. T. COLERIDGE. 

INCLUDING SCENES AND PASSAGES HITHERTO EMITTED. 



'« Upon the whole there can be no doubt that this trilogy forms, in its original tongue, 
one of the most splendid specimens of tragic art the world has witnessed ; and none at 
all, that the execution of the version from which we have quoted so largely, places Mr. 
Coleridge in the very first rank of poetical translators. He is, perhaps, the solitary 
example of a man of very great original genius submitting to allthe labours, and reap- 
ing ali the honours, ol this species of literary exertion." — Blackwood, 1823. 



The Camp of Wallenstein is an introduction to the cele- 
brated tragedy of that name ; and, by its vivid portraiture of 
the state of the General's army, gives the best clue to the 
epell of his gigantic power. The blind belief entertained in 
the unfailing success of his arms, and in the supernatural 
agencies by which that success is secured to him ; the unre- 
strained indulgence of every passion, and utter disregard of 
all law, save that of the camp ; a hard oppression of the pea- 
santry and plunder of the country ; have all swollen the sol- 
diery with an idea of interminable sway. But, as we have 
translated the whole, we shall leave these reckless marauders 
to speak for themselves. 

Of Schiller's opinion concerning the Camp, as a necessary 
introduction to the tragedy, the following passage taken from 
the Prologue to the first representation, will give a just idea, 
and may also serve as a motto to the work : — 

"Not He it is, who on the tragic scene 
Will now appear — but in the fearless bands 
Whom his command alone could sway, and whom 
His spirit fired, you may his shadow see, 
Until the bashful Muse shall dare to bring 
Himself before you in a living form; 
For power it was that bore his heart astray-- 
His Camp, alone, elucidates his crime.'' 



THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Sergeant-Major, \ of a regiment of Recruti. 

Trumpeter, J Terzky's carabineers. Citizen. 

Artilleryman. Peasant. 

Sharpshooters. Peasant Boy. 

Mounted Yagers, of Hoik's corps. Capuchin. 

Dragoons, of Butler's regiment. Regimental Scliool^naoifr* 

Arquebusiers, of Tiefenbach's regiment. Sutler Woman. 

Cuirassier, of a Walloon regiment. Servant Girl. 

Cuirassier, of a Lombard regiment. Soldiers* Boys. 

Croats. Musicians. 

Hulans. 

(Scene — The camp before Pilsen, in Bohemia.) 



Scene 1. 
Sutlers' tents — in front, a Slop-shop. — Soldiers of all colours 
and uniforms thronging about. — Tables all filled. — Croats 
and Hulans cooking at a fire. — Sutler-woman serving out 
wine. — Soldier-boys throwing dice on a drum-head. — Singing 
heard from the tent. 

Enter a Peasant and his Son. 

SON. 

Father, I fear it will come to harm, 
So let us be off from this soldier swarm ; 
But boist'rous mates will ye find in the shoal — 
Twere better to bolt while our skins are whole. 

father. 
How now, boy ! the fellows won't eat us> tho 
They may be a little unruly, or so. 
See, yonder, arriving a stranger train, 
Fresh comers are they from the Saal and Mayn. 
Much booty they bring of the rarest sort— - 
Tis ours, if we cleverly drive our sport 



143 wallenstfjn's camp. [so. i. 

A captain, who fell by his comrade's sword, 
This pair of sure dice to me transferr'd ; 
To-day I'll just give them a trial, to see 
If their knack's as good as it used to be. 
You must play the part of a pitiful devil, 
For these roaring rogues, who so loosely revel, 
Are easily smooth'd, and trick'd, and flatter 'd, 
And, free as it came, their gold is scatter 'd. 
But we — since by bushels our all is ta'en, 
By spoonfuls must ladle it back again ; 
And, if with their swords they slash so highly, 
We must look sharp, boy, and do them slyly. 

[Singing and shouting in the tent 
Hark, how they shout ! God help the day ! 
Tis the peasant's hide for their sport must pay. 
Eight months in our beds and stalls have they 
Been swarming here, until far around 
Not a bird or a beast is longer found, 
And the peasant, to quiet his craving maw, 
Has nothing now left but his bones to gnaw 
Ne'er were we crush 'd with a heavier hand, 
When the Saxon was lording it o'er the land : 
And these are the Emperor's troops, they say ! — 

SON. 

From the kitchen a couple are coming this way, 
Not much shall we make by such blades as they 

FATHER. 

They're born Bohemian knaves — the two — 

Belonging to Terzky's carabineers, 

Who've lain in these quarters now for years 

The worst are they of the worthless crew. 

Strutting, swaggering, proud, and vain, 

They seem to think they may well disdain 

With the peasant a glass of his wine to drain 

But, soft — to the left o' the fire I see 

Three riflemen, who from the Tyrol should be 

Emmerick, come, boy, to them will we — 

Birds of this feather 'tis luck to find, 

Whose trim's so spruce, and their purse well lined. 

They move towards the tent. 



sc. ii.] wallenstetn's camp. 141 

Scene II. 
The above — Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, IJulan 

TEUMPETEE. 

What would the boor ? — Out, rascal, away ! 

PEASANT. 

Some victuals and drink, worthy masters, I pray, 
For not a warm morsel we've tasted to day. 

TEUMPETEE. 

Ay, guzzle and guttle — 'tis always the way. 

hulan (with a glass). 
Not broken your fast !— there — drink, ye hound ! 
He leads the peasant to the tent — the others come forward* 

seegeant (to the Trumpeter). 
Think ye, they've done it without good ground ? 
Is it likely they double our pay to day, 
Merely that we may be jolly and gay? 

TEUMPETEE. 

Why, the duchess arrives to-day, we know. 
And her daughter too — 

SERGEANT. 

Tush! that's mere shew — • 
'Tis the troops collected from other lands 
Who here at Pilsen have joined our bands — 
We must do the best we can t' allure 'em, 
With plentiful rations, and thus secure 'em, 
Where such abundant fare they find, 
A closer league with us to bind 

TEUMPETEE. 

Yes .'-—there's something in the wind 

SEEGEANT. 

The generals and commanders too — 

TEUMPETEE. 

A rather ominous sight, 'tis true 

SERGEANT. 

Who're met together so thickly here — 

TEUMPETEE. 

Have plenty of work on their hands, that's clear 

SEEGEANT. 

The whisp'ring and sending to and fro — 



142 wallenstein's camp. [sc iu 

trumpeter. 
Ay! Ay! 

SERGEANT 

The big- wig from Vienna, I trow, 
Who since yesterday's seen to prowl about 
In his golden chain of office there — 
Somethings at bottom of this, I'll swear. 

TRUMPETER. 

A bloodhound is he, beyond a doubt, 
By whom the duke's to be hunted out. 

SERGEANT. 

Mark ye well, man ! — they doubt us now, 
And they fear the duke's mysterious brow; 
He hath clomb too high for them, and fain 
Would they beat him down from his perch again. 

TRUMPETER. 

But we will hold him still on high — 
That all would think as you and I ! 

SERGEANT. 

Our regiment, and the other four 

Which Terzky leads — the bravest corps 

Throughout the camp, are the General's own, 

And have been trained to the trade by himself alone. 

The officers hold tbeir command of him, 

And are all his own, or for life, or limb 

Scene III. 

Enter Croat with a 'Necklace. — Sharpshooter following him 
The above. 

SHARPSHOOTER. 

Croat, where stole you that necklace, say ? 
Get rid of it, man — for thee 'tis unmeet : 
Come, take these pistols in change, I pray. 

CROAT. 

Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat 

SHARPSHOOTER. 

Then 111 give you this fine blue cap as well, 
A Lottery prize which just I've won : 
Look at the cut of it — quite the swell ! 



so iv.] wallenstein's camp. 143 

croat (twirling the Necklace in the Sun). 
But this is of pearls and of garnets bright, 
See, how it plays in the sunny light ! 

sharpshooter (taking the Necklace). 
Well, I'll give you to hoot, my own canteen — 
I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen 

[Looks at it. 

TRUMPETER. 

See, now ! — how cleanly the Croat is done : 
Snacks ! Master Shooter, and mum's the word. 

croat (having put on the cap). 
I think your cap is a smartish one. 

sharpshooter (winking to the Trumpeter). 
Tis a regular swop — as these gents have heard. 

Scene IV. 
The above. — An Artilleryman. 
artilleryman (to the Sergeant). 
How is it, I pray, brother Carabineer ? 
Shall we longer stay here, our fingers warming, 
While the foe in the field around is swarming ? 

SERGEANT. 

Art thou, indeed, in such hasty fret ? 

Why the roads, as I think, are scarce passable yet. 

artilleryman. 
For me they are not — I'm snug enough here — 
But a courier's come, our wits to waken 
With the precious news that Ratisbon's taken. 

trumpeter. 
Ha ! then we soon shall have work in hand. 

SERGEANT. 

Indeed ! to protect the Bavarian's land, 
Who hates the Duke, as we understand, 
We won't put ourselves in a violent sweat. 

ARTILLERYMAN. 

Heyday ! — you'll find you're a wiseacre yet. 



14 4 wallenstein's camp [sc. v 

Scene V 

The above — Two Yagers. — Afterwards Sutler-woman. Soldiei 

boy, Schoolmaster ', Servant-girl. 

FIRST YAGER 

See ! see ! 
Here meet we a jovial company ! 

TRUMPETER. 

Who can those green coats be, I wonder, 
That strut so gay and sprucely yonder ? 

SERGEANT. 

They're the Yagers of Hoik — and the lace they wear s 
I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair 

sutler-woman (bringing wine). 
Welcome, good sirs ! 

first yager. 
Zounds, how now ? 
Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow ! 
sutler-woman 
The same in sooth — and you, I know, 
Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho : 
Who at Gliickstadt once, in a revelling night, 
With the wags of our regiment, put to flight 
All his father's shiners — then crown 'd the fun— 

first yager. 
By changing his pen for a rifle gun. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear. 

FIRST YAGER. 

And to think we should meet in Bohemia here • 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Oh, here to-day — to-morrow yonder — 
As the rude war-broom, in restless trace, 
Scatters and sweeps us from place to place. 
Meanwhile I've been doom'd far round to wander. 

FIRST YAGER. 

So one would think, by the look of your face 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar. 
Whither I went with the baggage car. 



<?c v.] wallenstein's camp. 

When Mansfeld before us we chased away ; 
With the Duke near Stralsund next we lay, 
Where trade went all to pot, I may say. 
I jogged with the succours to Mantua ; 
And back again came, under Feria. 
Then, joining a Spanish regiment, 
I took a short cut across to Ghent; 
And now to Bohemia I'm come to get 
Old scores paid off, that are standing yet, 
If a helping hand by the Duke be lent— 
And yonder you see my sutler's tent. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Well, all things seem in a flourishing way, 

But what have you done with the Scotchman, say. 

Who once in the camp was your constant flame ? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

A villain, who trick'd me clean, that same I 
He bolted, and took to himself, whate'er 
I'd managed to scrape together, or spare, 
Leaving me naught but the urchin there 

soldier-boy [springing forward). 
Mother, is it my papa you name ? 

FIRST YAGER. 

Well, the Emperor now must father this elf, 
For the army must ever recruit itself. 

SCHOOLMASTER. 

Forth to the school, ye rogue — d'ye hear ? 

FIRST YAGER. 

He, too, of a narrow room has fear. 

servant girl (entering). 
Aunt, they'll be off. 

sutler-woman. 
I come apace. 

FIRST YAGER. 

What gypsy is that with the roguish face ? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

My sister's child from the south, is she. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Ay, ay, a sweet little niece — I see. 



145 



146 WALLENSTEIN's CAMP, [si. VI, 

second YAGEK (holding the girl r 
Softly, my pretty one ! stay with ine. 

GIRL. 

The customers wait, sir, and I must go. 

[Disengages herself, and exit 

FIRST YAGER. 

That maiden's a dainty morsel, I trow ! 
And her aunt — by Heav'n ! I mind me well, 
When the best of the regiment loved her so, 
To blows for her beautiful face they fell. 
What different folks one's doomed to know ! 
How time glides off with a ceaseless flow ! 
And what sights as yet we may live to see ! 

(To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.) 
Your health, good sirs, may we be free, 
A seat beside you here to take ? 

Scene VI 
The Yagers, Sergeant, and Trumpeter. 

SERGEANT. 

We thank ye — and room will gladly make. 
To Bohemia welcome. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Snug enough here ! 
In the land of the foe our quarters were queer. 

TRUMPETER. 

You hav'n't the look on't —you're spruce to view. 

SERGEANT. 

Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen too, 
Your praises are heard from the lips of few 

SECOND YAGER. 

Tush, man ! — why, what the plague d'ye mean ? 
The Croat had swept the fields so clean, 
There was little, or nothing, for us to glean 

TRUMPETER. 

Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly, 
And, then, your hose, that sit so tightly ! 
Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather 
Make a show of the smartest altogether ! 



so. vi. 1 wallenstein's camp. 147 

(To Sergeant,) 
That fortune should upon younkers shine — 
While nothing in your way comes, or mine. 

SEEGEANT. 

But then we're the Friedlander's regiment, 
And, thus, may honour and homage claim. 

FIEST YAGEE. 

For us, now, that's no great compliment, 
. We, also, hear the Friedlander's name. 

SEEGEANT. 

True — you form part of the general mass. 

FIEST YAGEB. 

And you, I suppose, are a separate class ! 
The difference lies in the coats we wear, 
And I have no wish to change with you there ! 

SEEGEANT. 

Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt, 

When I think how much among boors youVe dwelt 

The clever knack and the proper tone, 

Are caught by the General's side alone. 

FIEST YAGEE. 

Then the lesson is wofully thrown away, — 
How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say 
You've copied and caught in the cleverest way 
But his spirit, his genius — oh, these I ween, 
On your guard parade are but seldom seen. 

SECOND YAGEE. 

Why, zounds ! ask for us wherever you will, 
Friedland's wild hunt is our title still !' 
Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go 
Alike thro' the field of a friend, or a foe : 
Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn, 
Well know they the blast of Hoik's Yager horn 
In the flash of an eye, we are far or near, 
Swift as the deluge, or there or here — 
As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak 
In the silent dwelling where none awake ; 
Vain is the hope in weapons or flight, 
Nor order nor discipline thwart its might. 
Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms, 
But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms. 

I 2 



143 WALLENSTEINS CAMP. [fkJ. VU 

Go ask — I speak not with boastful tongue — 
In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er 
Our troop has traversed — go, ask them there — 
Children and children's children long, 
When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er 
Of Hoik will tell and his Yager corps. 

SERGEANT. 

Why, hark ! Must a soldier then be made 
By driving this riotous, roaring trade ! 
Tis drilling that makes him, skill and sense — 
Perception — thought — intelligence. 

FIRST YAGER. 

'Tis liberty makes him ! — Here's a fuss ! 

That I should such twaddle as this discuss. 

Was it for this, that I left the school ? 

That the scribbling desk, and the slavish rule, 

And the narrow walls, that our spirits cramp, 

Should be met with again in the midst of the camp ? 

No ! — Idle and heedless, I'll take my way, 

Hunting for novelty every day ; 

Trust to the moment with dauntless mind, 

And give not a glance or before or behind. 

For this to the Emperor I sold my hide, 

That no other care I might have to bide. 

Through the foe's fierce firing bid me ride, 

Through fathomless Rhine, in his roaring flow, 

Where ev'ry third man to the devil may go, 

At no bar will you find me boggling there ; 

But, farther than this, 'tis my special prayer, 

That I may not be bother'd with aught like care. 

SERGEANT. 

If this be your wish, you needn't lack it, 
'Tis granted to all with the soldier's jacket. 

FIRST YAGER. 

What a fuss and a bother, forsooth, was made 
By that man-tormentor, Gustavus the Swede, 
Whose camp was a church, where prayers were said 
At morning reveille and evening tattoo ; 
And, whenever it chanced that we frisky grew, 
A sermon himself from the saddle he'd read. 



}C VT.J wallenstein's camp. U9 

SERGEANT. 

Ay, that was a man with the fear of God. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Girls he detested ; and, what's rather odd, 

If caught with a wench, you in wedlock were tack d — 

I could stand it no longer, so off I pack'd. 

SERGEANT. 

Their discipline now has a trifle slack'd. 

FIRST TAGER. 

Well, next to the League I rode over ; their men 
Were must'ring in haste against Magdeburg then 
Ha ! that was another guess sort of a thing ! — 
In frolic and fun we'd a glorious swing ; 
With gaming, and drinking, and girls at call, 
I'faith, sirs, our sport was by no means small. 
For Tilly knew how to command, that's plain ; 
He held himself in, but gave us the rein ; 
And, long as he hadn't the bother of paying, 
" Live, and let live ! " was the General's saying. 
But fortune soon gave him the slip ; and ne'er, 
Since the day of that villanous Leipzig affair, 
Would aught go aright. 'Twas of little avail 
That we tried, for our plans were sure to fail. 
If now we drew nigh, and rapp'd at a door, 
No greeting awaited, 'twas opened no more ; 
From place to place we went sneaking about, 
And found that their stock of respect was out- 
Then touch'd I the Saxon bounty, and thought 
Their service with fortune must needs be fraught 

SERGEANT. 

You join'd 'em then just in the nick to share 
Bohemia's plunder? 

FIRST YAGER. 

I'd small luck there 
Strict discipline sternly ruled the day, 
Nor dared we a foeman's force display. 
They set us to guard the imperial forts 
And plagued us all with the farce of the courts. 
War they waged as a jest 'twere thought — 
And but half a heart to the business brought. 



150 wallenstein's camp. [so. VI 

They would break with none ; and thus 'twas plain, 
Small honour 'mong them could a soldier gain. 
So heartily sick in the end grew I, 
That my mind was the desk again to try; 
When suddenly, rattling near and far, 
The Friedlander's drum was heard to war. 

SERGEANT. 

And how long here may you mean to stay ? 

FIRST YAGER. 

You jest, man. — So long as he bears the sway, 

By my soul ! not a thought of change have I 

Where better than here could the soldier lie ? 

Here the true fashion of war is found, 

And the cut of power's on all things round ; 

While the spirit, whereby the movement's given. 

Mightily stirs, like the winds of heaven, 

The meanest trooper in all the throng. 

With a hearty step shall I tramp along ; 

On a burgher's neck as undaunted tread, 

As our General does on the prince's head. 

As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now, 

The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow. 

One crime alone can I understand, 

And that's to oppose the word of command. 

What's not forbidden, to do make bold, 

And none will ask you what creed you hold. 

Of just two things in this world I wot, 

What belongs to the army, and what does not 

To the banner alone is my service brought. 

SERGEANT. 

Thus, Yager, I like thee — thou speak'st, I vow, 
With the tone of a Friedland trooper now. 

FIRST YAGER. 

'Tis not as an office lie holds command, 
Or a power received from the Emperor s hand ; 
For the Emperor's service what should he care V 
What better for him does the Emperor fare ? 
With the mighty power, he wields at will, 
Has ever he shelter'd the land from ill ? 



PS. V].J wallenstein's camp. 151 

No ; a soldier-kingdom he seeks to raise, 
And for this would set the world in a blaze, 
Daring to risk and to compass all 

TRUMPETER. 

Hush — who shall such words as these let fall ? 

FIRST YAGER. 

Whatever I think may be said by me, 
For the General tells us, the word is free 

SERGEANT. 

True — that he said so I fully agree, 
I was standing by. " The word is free— 
The deed is dumb — obedience blind!" 
His very words I can call to mind. 

FIRST YAGER. 

I know not if these were his words or no, 
But he said the thing, and 'tis even so, 

SECOND YAGER. 

Victory ne'er will his flag forsake, 

Though she's apt from others a turn to take : 

Old Tilly outlived his fame's decline, 

But, under the banner of Wallenstein, 

There am I certain that victory's mine ! 

Fortune is spell-bound to him, and must yield ; 

Whoe'er under Friedland shall take the field 

Is sure of a supernatural shield : 

For, as all the world is aware full well, 

The Duke has a devil in hire from hell 

SERGEANT. 

In truth that he's charm 'd is past a doubt, 
For we know how, at Lutzen's bloody affair, 
Where firing was thickest, he still was there, 
As coolly as might be, sirs, riding about. 
The hat on his head was shot thro' and thro', 
In coat and boots the bullets that flew 
Left traces full clear to all men's view ; 
But none got so far as to scratch off his skin, 
For the ointment of hell was too well rubb'd in 

FIRST YAGER. 

What wonder so strange can you all see there ? 
An elk-skin jacket he happens to wear, 
And through it the bullets can make no way 



f 53 wallenstein's camp. [so. vti 

SERGEANT. 

'Tis an ointment of witches' herbs, I say, 
Kneaded and cook'd by unholy spell. 

TKUMPETEK. 

No doubt 'tis the work of the powers of hell 

SERGEANT. 

That he reads in the stars, we also hear, 
Where the future he sees — distant or near — 
But I know better the truth of the case • 
A little grey man, at the dead of night, 
Through bolted doors to him will pace — 
The sentinels oft have hailed the sight, 
And something great was sure to be nigh, 
When this little Grey Coat had glided by. 

FIKST YAGER. 

Ay, ay, he's sold himself to the devil, 
Wherefore, my lads, let's feast and revel. 

Scene VII. 
The above. — Recruit, Citizen, Dragoon. 
(T\e Recruit advances from the tent, wearing a tin cap on kit 
head, and carrying a wine flash.) 
recruit. 
To father and uncle pray make my bow, 
And bid 'em good bye — I'm a soldier now. 

first yager. 
See, yonder they're bringing us something new 

CITIZEN. 

0, Franz, remember, this day you'll rue 
recruit (sings). 
The drum and the fife, 

War's rattling throng, 
And a wandering life 
The world along ! 
Swift steed — and a hand 
To curb and command — 
With a blade by the side, 
We're off far and wide, 



SS. vii. 1 wallenstein's camp. 15S 

As jolly and free, 
As the finch in its glee, 
On thicket or tree, 
Under Heaven's wide hollow — 
Hurrah ! for the Friedlander's banner I'll follow ! 

SECOND YAGEE. 

Foregad ! a jolly companion, though. 

[They salute him. 

CITIZEN. 

He comes of good kin ; now pray let him go. 

FIKST YAGEE. 

And we weren't found in the streets you must know 

CITIZEN. 

I tell you his wealth is a plentiful stock ; 

Just feel the fine stuff that he wears for a frock. 

TEUMPETER. 

The Emperor's coat is the best he can wear. 

CITIZEN. 

To a cap manufactory he is the heir. 

SECOND YAGER. 

The will of a man is his fortune alone 

CITIZEN. 

His grandmother's shop will soon be his own. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Pish ! traffic in matches ! who would do 't ? 

CITIZEN. 

A wine- shop his godfather leaves, to boot, 
A cellar with twenty casks of wine. 

TEUMPETEE. 

These with his comrades he'll surely share 

SECOND YAGER. 

Hark ye, lad — be a camp-brother of mine 

CITIZEN. 

A bride he leaves sitting, in tears, apart. 

FIRST YAGEE. 

Good — that now's a proof of an iron heart 

CITIZEN 

His grandmother s sure to die with sorrow, 



154 wallenstein's CAMP. [£\J. Vli. 

SECOND YAGER. 

The better — for then he'll inherit to-morrow. 
sergeant (advances gravely, and lays his hand on the Recruit's 

tin cap). 
The matter, no doubt, you have duly weighed, 
And here a new man of yourself have made ; 
With hanger and helm, sir, you now belong 
To a nobler and more distinguished throng. 
Thus, a loftier spirit, 'twere well to uphold — 

FIRST YAGER. 

And, specially, never be sparing of gold. 

SERGEANT. 

In Fortune's ship, with an onward gale, 

My friend, you have made up your mind to sail 

The earth-ball is open before you — yet there 

Nought's to be gained, but by those w T ho dare. 

Stupid and sluggish your citizen's found, 

Like a dyer's dull jade, in his ceaseless round; 

While the soldier can be whatever he will, 

For war o'er the earth is the watclrword still. 

Just look now at me, and the coat I wear, 

You see that the Emperor's baton I bear — 

And all good government, over the earth, 

You must know from the baton alone has birth ; 

For the sceptre that's sway'd by the kingly hand, 

Is nought but a baton, we understand. 

And he who has corporal's rank obtain'd, 

Stands on the ladder where all's to be gained, 

And you, like another, may mount to that height — 

FIRST YAGER. 

Provided you can but read and write. 

SERGEANT. 

Now, hark to an instance of this, from me, 
And one, which I've lived myself to see : 
There's Buttler, the chief of dragoons, why he, 
Whose rank was not higher a whit than mine, 
Some thirty years since, at Cologne on Ehine, 
Is a Major- General now — -because 
He put himself forward and gained applause ; 



So. VTI.J s wallenstein's camp. 155 

Filling the world with his martial fame, 
While slept my merits without a name. 
And ev'n the Friedlander's self — I've heard — 
Our General and all commanding Lord, 
Who now can do what he will at a word, 
Had at first but a private squire's degree ; 
In the goddess of war yet trusting free, 
He rear'd the greatness, which now you see, 
And, after the Emperor, next is he. 
Who knows what more he may mean or get ? 
Slily.) For all-day's evening isn't come yet. 

FIRST YAGER, 

He was little at first, tho' now so great — 

For, at Altorf, in student's gown, he play'd, 

By your leave, the part of a roaring blade, 

And rattled away at a queerish rate. 

His fag he had well nigh kill'd by a blow, 

And their Nur'mberg worships swore he should go 

To jail for his pains, — if he liked it, or no. 

Twas a new-built nest to be christen'd by him, 

Who first should be lodged. Well, what was his whim'r 

Why, he sent his dog forward to lead the way, 

And they call the jail from the dog to this day. 

That was the game a brave fellow should play, 

And of all the great deeds of the General, none 

E'er tickled my fancy, like this one. 

[During this speech, the Second Yager has begun toying 
with the Girl, who has been in waiting.} 
dragoon [stepping between them). 
Comrade — give over this sport, I pray 

SECOND YAGER. 

Why, who the devil shall say me nay ? 

DRAGOON. 

I've only to tell you the girl's my own. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Such a morsel as this, for himself alone! — 
Dragoon, why say, art thou crazy grown ? 

SECOND YAGER. 

In the camp to be keeping a wench for one ! 

No! the light of a pretty girl's face must fall, 

Like the beams of the sun to gladder us all. (Kisses her A 



! o 6 WALLEN STEIN 's CAMP. [ SC . VI 1 1. 

dragoon (tears her away). 
I tell you again, that it shan't be done. 

FTRST YAGER. 

The pipers are coming, lads ! now for fun ! 

second yager (to Dragoon). 
I sha'n't be far off, should you look for rne. 

SERGEANT. 

Peace, my good fellows ! — a kiss goes free. 

Scene VIII. 
Enter Miners, and play a Waltz — at first slowly, and after 
wards quicker. — The First Yager dances with the Girl, the 
Sutler-woman with the Recruit. — The Girl springs away, and 
the Yager, pursuing her, seizes hold of a Capuchin Friar 
just entering. 

CAPUCHIN. 

Hurrah! halloo! tol, lol, de rol, le! 

The fun's at its height! I'll not be away! 

Is't an army of Christians that join in such works? 

Or are we all turn'd Anabaptists and Turks ? 

Is the Sabbath a day for this sport in the land, 

As tho' the great God had the gout in his hand, 

And thus couldn't smite in the midst of your band ? 

Say, is this a time for your revelling shouts, 

For your banquetings, feasts, and holiday bouts? 

Quid hie statis otiosi? declare 

Why, folding your arms, stand ye lazily there? 

While the furies of war on the Danube now fare, 

And Bavaria's bulwark is lying full low, 

And Ratisbon's fast in the clutch of the foe. 

Yet, the army lies here in Bohemia still, 

And caring for nought, so their paunches they fill ! 

Bottles far rather than battles you'll get, 

And your bills than your broad swords more readily wet 5 

With the wenches, I ween is, your dearest concern, 

And you'd rather roast oxen than Oxenstiern. 

In sackcloth and ashes while Christendom's grieving, 

No thought has the soldier his guzzle of leaving. 

*Tis a time of misery, groans, and tears ! 

Portentous the face of the heavens appears! 



sj. viii.] wallenstein's camp. 15Y 

And forth from the clouds behold blood-red, 
The Lord's war-mantle is downward spread — 
While the comet is thrust as a threatening rod, 
From the window of Heaven by the hand of God. 
The world is but one vast house of woe, 
The Ark of the Church stems a bloody flow, 
The Holy Empire — God help the same ! 
Has wretchedly sunk to a hollow name. 
The Bhine's gay stream has a gory gleam, 
The cloister's nests are robbed by roysters ; 
The church-lands now are changed to lurch-lands ; 
Abbacies, and all other holy foundations 
Now are but Eobber-sees — rogues' habitations. 
And thus is each once-blest German state, 
Deep sunk in the doom of the desolate ! 
Whence comes all this ? 0, that will I tell — 
It comes of your doings, of sin, and of hell ; 
Of the horrible, heathenish lives ye lead, 
Soldiers and officers, all of a breed. 
For sin is the magnet, on every hand, 
That draws your steel throughout the land ! 
As the onion causes the tear to flow, 
So Vice must ever be followed by Woe — 
The W duly succeeds the V, 
This is the order of A, B, C. 

Ubi erit victories spes, 
Si offenditur Deus ? which says, 
How, pray ye, shall victory e'er come to pass, 
If thus you play truant from sermon and mass, 
And do nothing but lazily loll o'er the glass? 
The woman, were told in the Testament, 
Found the penny, in search whereof she went. 
Saul met with his father's asses again, 
And Joseph his precious fraternal train, 
But he, who 'mong soldiers shall hope to see 
God's fear, or shame, or discipline — he 
From his toil, beyond doubt, will baffled, return, 
Tho' a hundred lamps in the search he burn. 
To the wilderness preacher, th' Evangelist says, 
The soldiers, too, throng'd to repent of their ways, 
And had themselves christen 'd in former days. 



l58 walle ostein's camp. [sc. viil 

Quid faciemus ncs / they said : 

Tow'rd Abraham's bosom what path must we tread ? 

Et ait Mis, and, said he, 
Neminem concutiatis ; 

From bother and wrongs leave your neighbours free. 
Neque calumniam facialis ; 
And deal nor in slander nor lies, d'ye see ? 
Contenti estote — content ye, pray, 
Stipendiis vestris — with your pay — 
And curse for ever each evil way. 

There is a command — thou shalt not utter 
The name of the Lord thy God, in vain ; 
But, where is it men most blasphemies mutter ? 
Why here, in Duke Friedland's head quarters, 'tis plain 
If for every thunder ! — and every blast ! 
Which blazing ye from your tongue-points cast, 
The bells were but rung, in the country round, 
Not a bellman, I ween, would there soon be found ; 
And if for each and ev'ry unholy prayer 
Which to vent from your jabbering jaws you dare, 
From your noddles were pluck'd but the smallest hair, 
Ev'ry crop would be smooth 'd ere the sun went down, 
Tho' at morn 'twere as bushy as Absalom's crown. 
Now Joshua, methinks, was a soldier as well — 
By the arm of King David the Philistine fell ; 
But where do we find it written, I pray, 
That they ever blasphemed in this villanous way ? 
One would think ye need stretch your jaws no more, 
To cry, " God help us ! " than " Zounds ! " to roar. 
But, by the liquor that's pour'd in the cask, we know 
With what it will bubble and overflow. 

Again, it is written — thou shalt not steal, 
And this you follow, i 'faith-! to the letter, 
For open faced robbery suits ye better. 
The gripe of your vulture claws you fix 
On all — and your wiles and rascally tricks 
Make the gold unhid in our coffers now, 
And the calf unsafe while yet in the cow — 
Ye take both the egg and the hen, I vow. 

DO m ' 

Contenti estote — the preacher said ; 

Which means — be content with your army bread. 



S'J Vlli.] WALLENSTEINS camp lf>9 

But how should the slaves not from duty swerve ? 
The mischief hegins with the lord they serve 
Just like the members so is the head. 
I should like to know who can tell me Ms creed. 

FIEST YAGER. 

Sir Priest, 'gainst ourselves rail on as you will — 
Of the General we warn you to breathe no ill. 

CAPUCHIN. 

Ne custodias gregem meant I 

An Ahab is he, and a Jerobeam, 

Who the people from faith's unerring way, 

To the worship of idols would turn astray. 

TRUMPETER and RECRUIT 

Let us not hear that again, we pray. 

CAPUCHIN. 

Such a Bramarbas, whose iron tooth 

Would seize all the strongholds of earth, forsooth ! — ■ 

Did he not boast, with ungodly tongue, 

That Stralsund must needs to his grasp be wrung, 

Though to heaven itself with a chain 'twere strung ? 

TRUMPETER. 

Will none put a stop to his slanderous bawl ? 

CAPUCHIN. 

A wizard he is ! — and a sorcerer Saul ! — 

Holofernes ! — a Jehu ! — denying, we know, 

Like St. Peter, his Master and Lord below ; 

And hence must he quail when the cock doth crow — 

BOTH YAGERS. 

Now, parson, prepare ; for thy doom is nigh. 

CAPUCHIN. 

A fox more cunning than Herod I trow — - 

trumpeter and both yagers (pressing against him). 
Silence, again, — if thou wouldst not die ! 

Croats (interfering). 
Stick to it, father ; we'll shield you, ne'er fear, 
The close of your preachment now let's hear, 

capuchin (still louder). 
A Nebuchadnezzar, in towering pride ! 
And a vile and heretic sinner beside ! 



16) wallenstein's camp. [sc. ex. 

He calls himself rightly the stone of a wall ; 

For, faith ! he's a stumbling-stone to us all. 

And ne'er can the Emperor have peace indeed, 

Till of Friedland himself the land is freed. 

[During the last passage, which he pronounces in 
an elevated voice, he has been gradually retreat* 
ing t the Croats keeping the other Soldiers off 

Scene IX. 
The above, without the Capuchin. 
first yager (to the Sergeant). 
But, tell us, what meant he 'bout chanticleer, 
Whose crowing the General dares not hear ? 
No doubt it was uttered in spite and scorn. 

sergeant. 
Listen — 'tis not so untrue as't appears ; 
For Friedland was rather mysteriously born, 
And is 'specially troubled with ticklish ears. 
He can never suffer the mew of a cat : 
Aud, when the cock crows, he starts thereat. 

FIRST YAGER. 

He's one and the same with the lion in that. 

SERGEANT. 

Mouse-still must all around him creep, 
Strict watch in this the sentinels keep, 
For he ponders on matters most grave and deep. 

[Voices in the Tent. A Tumult. 
Seize the rascal ! lay on ! lay on ! 
peasant's voice. 
Help ! — mercy ! — help ! 

OTHERS. 

Peace ! peace ! begone ! 

FIRST YAGER. 

Deuce take me, but yonder the swords are out ! 

SECOND YAGER. 

Then I must be off, and see what 'tis about. 

[Yagers enter the Tent 
sutler- woman {comes forward). 
A scandalous villain !— a scurvy thief! 



go. x.] wallenstein's camp 1GI 

TEUMPETER. 

Good hostess, the cause of this clamorous grief ? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

A cut-purse ! — a scoundrel ! the villain I call. 
That the like in my tent should ever befall ! 
I'm disgraced and undone with the officers all! 

SERGEANT. 

Well, coz, what is it ? 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Why, what should it he ? 
But a peasant they've taken just now with me — 
A rogue with false dice, to favour his play. 

TRUMPETER. 

See ! they're bringing the boor and his son this way 

Scene X. 
Soldiers dragging in the Peasant, bound, 

FIRST YAGER. 

He must hang ! 

SHARPSHOOTERS and DRAGOONS 

To the provost come on! 

SERGEANT. 

Tis the latest order that forth has gone. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

In an hour I hope to behold him swinging! 

SERGEANT. 

Bad work bad wages will needs be bringing. 
first arquebusier (to the others). 
This comes of their desperation. We 
First ruin them out and out, dye see ; 
Which tempts them to steal, as it seems to me. 

TRUMPETER. 

How now ! the rascal's cause would you plead 9 
The cur ! — the devil is in you indeed ! 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

The boor is a man — as a body may say. 

first yager (to the Trumpeter). 
Let 'em go ! — they're of Tiefenbach's corps, the railers, 
A glorious train of glovers and tailors ! 
At Brieg, in garrison, long they lay ; 
What should they know about camps, I pray.* 

M. 



162 WALLENSTEIN S CAMP. [SC- XL 

Scene XI 
The above. — Cuirassiers. 

FIEST CUIRASSIER. 

Peace ! what's amiss with the boor, may I crave ? 

FIRST SHARPSHOOTER. 

He has cheated at play, the cozening knave ! 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

But say, has he cheated you, man, of aught ? 

FIRST SHARPSHOOTER. 

Just clean'd me out — and not left me a groat 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

And can you, who've the rank of a Friedland man. 

So shamefully cast yourself away, 

As to try your luck with a boor at play ? 

Let him run off, so that run he can. 

[The Peasant escapes, the others throng together, 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

He makes short work — is of resolute mood — 
And that with such fellows as these is good. 
Who is he ?— not of Bohemia, that's clear. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

He's a Walloon — and respect, I trow, 
Is due to the Pappenheim cuirassier ! 
first dragoon (Joining). 
Young Piccolomini leads them now, 
Whom they chose as Colonel, of their own free might, 
When Pappenheim fell in Lutzen's fight. 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

Durst they, indeed, presume so far ? 

FIRST DRAGOON. 

This regiment is something above the rest. 
It has ever been foremost throughout the war, 
And may manage its laws, as it pleases best * 
Besides, 'tis by Friedland himself carest. 

first cuirassier (to the Second) 
Is't so in truth, man ? Who averr'd it ? 

SECOND CUIRASSIER. 

From the lros of the Colonel himself I heard it. 



5C. XT. J WALT/ENSTEIN's CAMP 153 

FIKST CUIRASSIER. 

The devil ! we re not their dogs, I ween ! 

FIRST YAGER. 

How now, what's wrong ? You're swoln with SDleen ! 

SECOND YAGER. 

Is it anything, comrades, may us concern ? 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Tis what none need be wondrous glad to learn. 

The Soldiers press round him. 
To the Netherlands they would lend us now — 
Cuirassiers, Yagers, and Shooters away, 
Eight thousand, in all, must march, they say. 

SUTLER- WOMAN. 

What ! what ! again the old wandering way — 
I got back from Flanders but yesterday ! 

second cuirassier (to the Dragoons). 
You of Buttler s corps must tramp with the rest 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

And we, the Walloons, must doubtless be gor.e 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Why of all our squadrons these are the best. 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

To march where that Milanese fellow leads oil. 

FIRST YAGER. 

The Infant ! that's queer enough in its way. 

SECOND YAGER. 

The Priest — then, egad ! there's the devil to pay 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Shall we then leave the Friedlander's train, 
Who so nobly his soldiers doth entertain — 
And drag to the field with this fellow from Spain I 
A niggard whom we in our souls disdain ! 
That'll never go down — I'm off, I swear. 

TRUMPETER. 

Why, what the devil should we do there ? 
We sold our blood to th' Emperor — ne'er 
For this Spanish red hat a drop we'll spare! 

m 2 



104 wallenstein's CAMP. [SO. XXt 

SECOND YAGER. 

On the Friedlander's word and credit alone 
We ranged ourselves in the trooper line, 
And, but for our love to Wallenstein, 
Ferdinand ne'er had our service known. 

FIRST DRAGOON. 

Was it not Friedland that formed our force ? 
His fortune shall still be the star of our course 

SERGEANT. 

Silence, good comrades, to me give ear — 
Talking does little to help us here. 
Much farther in this I can see than you all, 
And a trap has been laid in which were to fall. 

FIRST YAGER. 

List to the order-book ! hush — be still ! 

SERGEANT. 

But first, cousin Grustel, I pray thee fill 

A glass of Melneck, as my stomach's but weak ; 

When I've tost it off, my mind I'll speak. 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

Take it, good Sergeant. I quake for fear — 
Think you that mischief is hidden here ? 

SERGEANT. 

Look ye, my friends, 'tis fit and clear 
That each should consider what's most near. 
But as the General says, say I, 
One should always the whole of a case descry. 
We call ourselves all the Friedlander's troops ; 
The Burgher, on whom we're billeted, stoops 
Our wants to supply, and cooks our soups. 
His ox, or his horse, the Peasant must chain 
To our baggage car, and may grumble in vain. 
Just let a lance-corp'ral, with seven good men, 
Tow'rd a village from far but come within ken, 
You re sure he'll be prince of the place, and may 
Cut what capers he will, with unquestion'd sway. 
Why, zounds ! lads, they heartily hate us all — 
And would rather the devil should give them a call, 
Than our yellow collars. And why don't they fall 



50. XI.] WALLENSTEINS CAMP. 165 

On us fairly at once, and get rid of our lumber ? 
They're more than our match in point of number, 
And carry the cudgel as we do the sword. 
Why can we laugh them to scorn ? By my word, 
Because we make up here a terrible horde. 

FIRST YAGER. 

Ay, ay, in the mass lies the spell of our might, 
And the Friedlander judged the matter aright, 
When, some eight or nine years ago, he brought 
The Emperor's army together. They thought 
Twelve thousand enough for the Gen'ral. In vain— 
Said he — such a force I can never maintain. 
Sixty thousand I'll bring ye into the plain, 
And they, I'll be sworn, wont of hunger die, 
And thus were we Wallenstein's men, say I 

SERGEANT. 

For example — cut one of my fingers off — 

This little one, here, from my right hand doff. 

Is the taking my finger, then, all you've done ? 

No, no, to the devil my hand is gone ! 

'Tis a stump — no more — and use has none. 

The eight thousand horse they wish to disband, 

May be but a finger of our army's hand. 

But, when they're once gone — may we understand 

We are but one-fifth the less ? Oh, no — 

By the Lord, the whole to the devil will go ! 

All terror, respect, and awe, will be o'er, 

And the Peasant will swell his crest once more ; 

And the Board of Vienna will order us where 

Our troops must be quartered, and how we must fare, 

As of old, in the days of their beggarly care. 

Yes — and how long it will be who can say 

Ere the General himself they may take away ? 

For they don't much like him at court, I learn ; 

And then it's all up with the whole concern ! 

For who, to our pay, will be left to aid us ? 

And see that they keep the promise they made us. 

WTio has the energy — who the mind — 

The flashing thought — and the fearless hand — • 

Together to bring, and thus fastly bind 

The fragments that form our close-knit band 



'06 wallenstein's camp. ;so xi 

For example, Dragoon — -just answer us now, 
From which of the countries of earth art thou ? 

DRAGOON. 

From distant Erin came I here. 

sergeant (to the two Cuirassiers ) 
You're a Walloon, my friend, that's clear . 
And you, an Italian, as all may hear. 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Who I may he, faith ! I never could say ■ 
In my infant years they stole me away. 

SERGEANT. 

And you, from what far land may you he ? 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

I come from Buchau — on the Feder Sea. 

SERGEANT. 

Neighbour, and you? 

SECOND ARQUEBUSIER. 

I am a Swiss. 
sergeant (to the Second Yager) 
And Yager, lets hear where your country is ? 

second yager. 
Up above Wismar, my fathers dwell. 

sergeant [pointing to the Trumpeter) 
And he's from Eger — and I as well : 
And, now, my comrades, I ask you whether. 
Would any one think, when looking at us, 
That we, from the North and South, had thus 
Been hitherward drifted and blown together ? 
Do we not seem as hewn from one mass ? 
Stand we not close against the foe 
As tho' we were glued, or moulded so ? 
Like mill- work don't we move, d'ye think ! 
'Mong ourselves in the nick, at a word or wink** 
Who has thus cast us, here, all as one, 
Now to be sever 'd again by none ? 
Who ? why, no other than Wallenstein ! 

first yager. 
In my life it ne'er was a thought of mine, 
Whether we suited each other or not, 
I let myself go with the rest of the lot. 



3d. xi.] wallenstein's caht IC7 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

I quite agree in the Sergeant's opinion — 
They'd fain have an end of our camp dominion, 
And trample the soldier down, that they 
May govern alone in their own good way. 
Tis a conspiration — a plot, I say ! 

SUTLER-WOMAN. 

A conspiration — God help the day ! 

Then my customers won't have cash to pay. 

SERGEANT. 

Why, faith, we shall all be bankrupts made : 
The captains and generals, most of them, paid 
The costs of the regiments with private cash, 
And, wishing, 'bove all, to cut a dash, 
Went a little beyond their means — but thought, 
No doubt, that they thus had a bargain bought. 
Now they'll be cheated, sirs, one and all, 
Should our chief, our head, the General fall. 

SUTLER- WOMAN. 

Oh, Heav n ! this curse I never can brook ! 
Why, half of the army stands in my book. 
Two hundred dollars I've trusted madly, 
That Count Isolani, who pays so badly. 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Well, comrades, let's fix on what's to be done — 
Of the ways to save us, I see but one ; 
If we hold together we needn't fear; 
So let us stand out as one man here ; 
And then they may order and send as they will 
Fast planted we'll stick in Bohemia still. 
We'll never give in — no, nor march an inch, 
We stand on our honour, and must not flinch. 

SECOND YAGER. 

We're not to be driven the country about, 
Let 'em come here, and they'll find it out. 

FIRST AEQUEBUSIER. 

Good sirs, 'twere well to bethink ye still, 
That such is the Emperor's sovereign will. 

TRUMPETER. 

Oh, as to the Emperor, we needn't be nice. 



138 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. |_ S0, X1 

FIKST AEQUEBUSIEK. 

Let me not hear you say so twice. 

TRUMPETER. 

Why 'tis even so — as I just have said. 

FIRST YAGER. 

True, man — I've always heard 'em say, 
Tis Friedland, alone, you've here to obey 

SERGEANT. 

By our bargain with him it should be so, 
Absolute power is his, you must know. 
We've war, or peace, but as he may please, 
Or gold or goods he has power to seize, 
And hanging or pardon his will decrees. 
Captains and colonels he makes — and he, 
In short, by th' Imperial seal is free, 
To hold all the marks of sovereignty. 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

The Duke is high and of mighty will, 
But yet must remain, for good or for ill, 
Like us all, but the Emperor's servant still. 

SERGEANT 

Not like us all — I there disagree — 

Friedland is quite independent and free, 

The Bavarian is no more a Prince than he ; 

For, was I not by myself to see, 

When on duty at Brandeis, how th' Emperor sa'd, 

He wished him to cover his princely head. 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

That was because of the Mecklenburgh land, 
Which he held in pawn from the Emperor's hai:d. 

first yager (to the Sergeant). 
In the Emperor's presence, man ! say you so ? 
That, beyond doubt, was a wonderful go ! 

sergeant {feels in his pocket). 
If you question my word in what I have told, 
I can give you something to grasp and hold. 

[Showing a coin 
Whose image and stamp d'ye here behold ? 

sutler-woman. 
Oh ! that is a Wallenstein's, sure! 



6C. xi.] wallenstein's camp. 1G9 

SERGEANT-MAJOR. 

Well, there, you have it — what doubt can rest ? 

Is he not Prince just as good as the best ? 

Coins he not money like Ferdinand ? 

Hath he not his own subjects and land ? 

Is he not called your Highness, I pray ? 

And why should he not have his soldiers in pay ? 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

That no one has ever meant to gainsay; 

Bat we're still at the Emperor's beck and call, 

For his Majesty 'tis who pays us all. 

TRUMPETER. 

In your teeth I deny it — and will again — 
His Majesty 'tis who pays us not, 
For this forty weeks, say, what have we got 
But a promise to pay, believed in vain ? 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

What then ! 'tis kept in safe hands, I suppose. 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Peace, good sirs, will you come to blows ? 
Have you a quarrel and squabble to know 
If the Emperor be our master or no ? 
Tis because of our rank, as his soldiers bravo, 
That we scorn the lot of the herded slave ; 
And will not be driven from place to place, 
As priests or puppies our path may trace. 
And, tell me, is't not the Sovereign's gain, 
If the soldiers their dignity well maintain ? 
Who but his soldiers give him the state 
Of a mighty, wide-ruling potentate ? 
Make and preserve for him, far and near, 
The voice which Christendom quakes to hear? 
Well enough they may his yoke-chain bear, 
Who feast on his favours, and daily share, 
In golden chambers, his sumptuous fare. 
We — we of his splendours have no part, 
Nought but hard wearying toil and care, 
And the pride that lives in a soldier's heart. 

SECOND YAGER. 

All great tyrants and kings have shown 
Their wit, as I take it, in what they've done ; 



170 WALLENSTEINS CAMP. r SC XI. 

They've trampled al] otliers with stern command, 
But the soldier they Ve led with a gentle hand 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

The soldier his worth must understand ; 
Whoe'er doesn't nobly drive the trade, 
'Twere best from the business far he'd staid. 
If I cheerily set my life on a throw, 
Something still better than life I'll know ; 
Or I'll stand to be slain for the paltry pelf, 
As the Croat still does — and scorn myself 

BOTH YAGERS. 

Yes — honour is dearer than life itself. 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

The sword is no plough nor delving tool, 

He, who would till with it, is but a fool. 

For us, neither grass nor grain doth grow, 

Houseless the soldier is doomed to go, 

A changeful wanderer over the earth, 

Ne'er knowing the warmth of a home-lit hearth. 

The city glances — he halts — not there — 

Nor in village meadows, so green and fair ; 

The vintage and harvest wreath are twined 

He sees, but must leave them far behind. 

Then, tell me, what hath the soldier left, 

If he's once of his self-esteem bereft? 

Something he must have his own to call, 

Or on slaughter and burnings at once he'll fall. 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

God knows 'tis a wretched life to live ! 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Yet one which I for no other would give 
Look ye — far round in the world I've been, 
And all of its different service seen. 
The Venetian Republic — the Kings of Spain 
And Naples I've served, and served in vain. 
Fortune still frowned — and merchant and knight 
Craftsman and Jesuit, have met my sight ; 
Yet, of all their jackets, not one have I known 
To please me like this steel coat of my own. 



SO. XT.] WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 171 

FIEST AEQUEBUSIEE. 

Well — that now is what I can scarcely say 

FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 

In the world, a man who would make his way. 
Must plague and bestir himself night and day. 
To honour and place, if he choose the road, 
He must bend his back to the golden load. 
And if home-delights should his fancy please, 
With children and grandchildren round his knees, 
Let him follow an honest trade in peace. 
I've no taste for this kind of life — not I ! 
Free will I live, and as freely die. 
No man's spoiler nor heir will I be — 
But, throned on my nag, I will smile to see 
The coil of the crowd that is under me. 

FEEST YAGEE. 

Bravo! — that's as I've always done. 

FIEST AEQUEBUSIEE. 

In truth, sirs, it may be far better fun 

To trample thus over your neighbour's crown. 

FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 

Comrade, the times are bad of late — 
The sword and the scales live separate. 
But do not then blame that I've preferr'd, 
Of the two, to lean, as I have, to the sword. 
For mercy in war I will yield to none, 
Tho' I never will stoop to be drumm'd upon 

FIEST AEQUEBUSIEE. 

Who but the soldier the blame should bear 
That the labouring poor so hardly fare ? 
The war with its plagues, which all have blasted, 
Now sixteen years in the land hath lasted. 

FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 

Why, brother, the blessed God above 

Can't have from us all an equal love. 

One prays for the sun, at which t'other will fret : 

One is for dry weather — t'other for wet. 

What you, now, regard as with misery rife, 

Is to me the unclouded sun of life. 



172 wallenstein's camp [sc. XL 

If 'tis at the cost of the burgher and boor, 
I really am sorry that they must endure ; 
But how can I help it ? Here, you must know, 
Tis just like a cavalry charge 'gainst the foe : 
The steeds loud snorting, and on they go ! 
Whoever may lie in the mid career — 
Be it my brother or son so dear, 
Should his dying groan my heart divide, 
Yet over his body I needs must ride, 
Nor pitying stop to drag him aside. 

FIRST YAGER. 

True — who ever asks how another may bide ? 

FIRST CUIRASSIER. 

Thus, my lads, 'tis my counsel, while 
On the soldier dame Fortune deigns to smile, 
That we with both hands her bounty clasp, 
For it mayn't be much longer left to our grasp- 
Peace will be coming some over night, 
And then there's an end of our martial might. 
The soldier unhorsed, and fresh-mounted the boor, 
Ere you can think it, 'twill be as before. 
As yet we're together firm bound in the land, 
The hilt is yet fast in the soldier's hand. 
But let 'em divide us, and soon we shall find 
Short commons is all that remains behind. 

FIRST YAGER. 

No, no, by the Lord ! that won't do for me. 
Come, come, lads, let's all now, as one, agree. 

SECOND YAGER. 

Yes, let us resolve on what 'tis to be. 

FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 

(To the Sutler-woman, drawing out his leather purse?) 
Hostess, tell us how high you've scored. 

SUTLER-WOMAN 

Oh, 'tis unworthy a single word. [They settU, 

TRUMPETER. 

You do well, sirs, to take a farther walk, 
Your company only disturbs our talk. 

[Exeunt Arquebusiers . 



go xi.] wallenstein's camp. 173 

FIEST CUIEASSIEE 

Plague take the fellows — they're brave, I know. 

FIEST TAGEE. 

They hav'n't a soul 'bove a soapboiler's though. 

SECOND YAGEE. 

We're now alone, so teach us who can 
How best we may meet and mar their plan. 

TEUMPETER. 

How ? Why, let's tell 'em we will not go ! 

FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 

Despising all discipline ! no, my lads, no. 
Eather his corps let each of us seek, 
And quietly then with his comrades speak, 
That every soldier may clearly know, 
It were not for his good so far to go ; 
For my Walloons to answer I'm free, 
Every man of 'em thinks and acts with me. 

SEEGEANT. 

The Terzky regiments, both horse and foot, 
Will thus resolve, and will keep them to't. 

second cuirassier (joining the first). 
The Walloons and the Lombards, one intent* 

FIEST YAGEE. 

Freedom is Yagers* own element. 

SECOND YAGER. 

Freedom must ever with might entwine — ■ 
I live and will die by Wallenstein. 

FIEST SHAEPSHOOTEE. 

The Lorrainers go on with the strongest tide. 
Where spirits are light and courage tried. 

DEAGOON. 

An Irishman follows his fortune s star. 

SECOND SHAEPSHOOTEE. 

The Tyrolese for their sovereign war. 

FIEST CUIEASSIEE. 

Then, comrades, let each of our corps agree 
A vro memorid to sign — that we, 
In spite of all force or fraud, will be 



174 WALLEN STEIN'S CAMP [SO. XL 

To the fortunes of Friedland firmly bound. 
For in him is the soldier's father found. 
This we will humbly present, when done, 
To Piccolo mini — I mean the son — 
Who understands these kind of affairs, 
And the Friedlander's highest favour shares ; 
Besides, with the Emperor's self, they say 
He holds a capital card to play. 

SECOND YAGER. 

Well, then, in this, let us all agree, 
That the Colonel shall our spokesman be ! 

all (going). 
Good ! the Colonel shall our spokesman be. 

SERGEANT 

Hold, sirs — -just toss off a glass with me 
To the health of Piccolomini. 

sutler-woman {brings a flask). 
This shall not go to the list of scores, 
I gladly give it — success be yours ! 

CUIRASSIER. 

The soldier shall sway ! 

BOTH YAGERS 

The peasant shall pay ! 

DRAGOONS and SHARPSHOOTERS 

The army shall flourishing stand ! 

TRUMPETER and SERGEANT. 

And the Friedlander keep the command ! 

second cuirassier (sings). 
Arouse ye, my comrades, to horse ! to horse ! 

To the field and to freedom we guide ! 
For there a man feels the pride of his force, 

And there is the heart of him tried. 
No help to him there by another is shown, 
He stands for himself and himself alone. 

\The Soldiers from the back ground have come forward 
during the singing of this verse, and form the chorus 
Chorus. 
No help to him there by another is shown, 
He stands for himself and himself alone. 



sc xi.] wallenstein's camp 175 

DRAGOON. 

Now freedom hath fled from the world, we find 

Bui lords and their bondsmen vile : 
And nothing holds sway in the breast of mankind 

Save falsehood and cowardly guile. 
Who looks in death s face with a fearless brow, 
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. 

Chorus. 
Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow, 
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. 

FIKST YAGER. 

With the troubles of life he ne'er bothers his pate, 

And feels neither fear nor sorrow ; 
Bat boldly rides onward to meet with his fate — 

He may meet it to-day, or to-morrow ! 
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say, 
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day ! 

Chorus. 
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say, 
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day ! 

[The glasses are here refilled, and all drink. 

SERGEANT. 

Tis from heaven his jovial lot has birth ; 

Nor needs he to strive or toil. 
The peasant may grope in the bowels of earth, 

And for treasure may greedily moil : 
He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, 
And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. 

Chorus. 
He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, 
And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. 

FIRST YAGER. 

The rider and lightning steed — a pair 

Of terrible guests. I ween ! 
From the bridal-hall as the torches glare, 

Unbidden they join the scene : 
Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove ; 
By storm he carries the prize of love ! 

Chorus. 
Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove ; 
By storm he carries the prize of love J 



176 WALLENSTEIN S CAMP [SC. XI. 

SECOND CUIRASSIER. 

Why mourns the wench with so sorrowful face ? 

Away, girl, the soldier must go ! 
No spot on the earth is his resting-place ; 

And your true love he never can know. 
Still onward driven by fate's rude wind, 
He nowhere may leave his peace behind. 

Chorus. 
Still onward driven by fate's rude wind, 
He nowhere may leave his peace behind. 

FIRST YAGER. 

He takes the two next to him by the hand — the others do the 
same — and form a large semicircle. 
Then rouse ye, my comrades — to horse ! to horse ! 

In battle the breast doth swell ! 
Youth boils — the life cup foams in its force — 

Up ! ere time can the dew dispel ! 
And deep be the stake, as the prize is high — 
Who life would win, he must dare to die ! 

Chorus. 
And deep be the stake, as the prize is high — 
Who life would win, he must dare to die I 

[The Curtain falls before the Chorus has finhlwd t 



THE PICCOLOMINI. 



PREFACE. 

The two Dramas, — Piccolomini, or tlie first part of Wal 
lenstein, and the Death of Wallenstein, are introduced 
in the original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled 
Wallenstein 's Camp. This is written in rhyme, and in 
nine-syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that expres- 
sion may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of Spenser's 
Shepherd's Calendar. 

This prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not 
deficient in character : but to have translated it into prose, 
or into any other metre than that of the original, would have 
given a false idea both of its style and purport; to have 
translated it into the same metre would have been incom 
patible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the German, 
from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes ; 
and it would have been unadvisable, from the incongruity of 
those lax verses with the present taste of the English public 
. Schiller's intention seems to have been merely to have 
prepared his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of 
laxity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of Wal- 
lenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a preliminary 
explanation. For these reasons it has been thought expedient 
not to translate it. 

The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their idea 
of that author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and Love, 
plays in which the main interest is produced by the excite- 
ment of curiosity, and in which the curiosity is excited by 
terrible and extraordinary incident, will not have perused 
without some portion of disappointment the Dramas, which 
it has been my employment to translate. They should, how- 
ever, reflect that these are Historical Dramas, taken from 
a popular German History; that we must, therefore, judge 
of them in some measure with the feelings of Germans ; or, 
by analogy, with the interest excited in us by similar Dramas 
in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignor- 
ant enough to compare Schiller with Shakspeare ; yet, 
merely as illustration, I would say, that we should proceed 



178 PREFACE. 

to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but 
from Kichard the Second, or the three parts of Henry the 
Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an Historical Drama ; 
and many prolix speeches are pardoned from characters, 
whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales 
of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these 
plays more individual beauties, more passages whose excel- 
lence will bear reflection, than in the former productions of 
Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and 
the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in 
the original a fine poem ; and my translation must have been 
wretched indeed, if it can have wholly overclouded the beau- 
ties of the scene in the first act of the first play, between 
Questenberg, Max. and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except 
the scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no 
part in Schiller's Plays which equals the first scene of the 
fifth act of the concluding play * . It would be unbecoming in 
me to be more diffuse on this subject. A translator stands 
connected with the original author by a certain law of sub 
ordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excel 
lences than defects : indeed he is not likely to be a fair 
judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own 
labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an after- 
view of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in 
any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to 
attribute to it more excellence than it really possesses, from 
our own pleasurable sense of difficulty overcome without 
effort. Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because 
the translator must give a brilliancy to his language without 
that warmth of original conception, from which such bril- 
liancy would follow of its own accord. But the translator of 
a living author is encumbered with additional inconveniences. 
If he render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each 
passage, he must, necessarily, destroy a considerable portion 
of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed ac- 
cording to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to 
imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought 
it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, 
with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages ren- 
dered possible. S T. C. 
* In this edition, Scene III. Act V. 



THE PICCOLOMINI. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Von Questenberg, the War Commis- 

Generalissimo of the Imperial sioner, Imperial Envoy. 

Forces in the Thirty Years' War. Baptista Seni, an Astrologer. 

Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant- ^^ Qp Friedland> wife oJ 

(xenerat. WalUnstptn 

Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel m WaUms ™ m ' . . 

of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. TH ^; ^ Da W hter > Prmcess °f 
Count Terzkt, the Commander of Friedland. 

several Regiments, and Brother-in- The Countess Terzky, Sister of the 

law of Wallenstein. Duchess. 

Illo, Field-Marshal, Wallenstein' s A Cornet. 

Confidant. Colonels and Generals [several). 

Isolani, General of the Croats. p AGEg a%d Attendants Monging to 
.Butler, an Irishman, Commander of Wallenstein 

a Regiment of Dragoons. . 7TT T , 

Tiefenbach 1 Attendants and Hoboists belonging 

Don Maradas, ( Generals under to Terz ty- 

Goetz, X Wallenstein, Master op the Cellar to Count 

Kolatto, J Terzky. 

Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide- Valet de Chambre of Count Picco* 
de-Camp to Terzky. lomini. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. 

An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, 

decorated with Colours and other War Insignia. 

Illo with Butler and Isolani. 

illo. 

Ye have come too late — but ye are come ! The distance 

Count Isolani, excuses your delay. 

ISOLANI. 

Add this too, that we come not empty-handed. 
At Donauwerth* it was reported to us, 

* A town about twelve German miles N.E. of Ulm. 

N % 



1 80 THE PICCOLOMINI, [ACT I. 

A Swedish caravan was on its way, 
Transporting a rich cargo of provision, 
Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats 
Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize ! — 
We bring it hither 

ILLO. 

Just in time to banquet 
The illustrious company assembled here. 

BUTLEK. 

'Tis all alive ! a stirring scene here ! 

ISOLANI. 

Ay! 
The very churches are all full of soldiers. 

[Casts his eye round. 
And in the Council-house too, I observe, 
You're settled, quite at home ! Well, well ! we soldiers 
Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 

ILLO. 

We have the colonels here of thirty regiments. 
You'll find Count Terzky here, and Tiefenbach, 
Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, 

The Piccolomini, both son and father 

You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting 
From many an old friend and acquaintance Only 
Galas is wanting still, and Altringer 

BUTLEK. 

Expect not Galas. 

illo {hesitating). 

How so ? Do you know 

isolani (interrupting him). 
Max. Piccolomini here?— bring me to him. 
I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago, 
We were engaged with Mansfeldt hard by Dessau,) 
I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him, 
Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown, 
And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, 
Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe. 
The down was scarce upon his chin ! I hear 
He has made good the promise of his youth, 
And the full hero now is finish'd in him. 



SC. I.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 181 

ILLO. 

You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 
The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess * 
From Carnthen f. We expect them here at noon. 

BUTLER. 

Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither ? 
He crowds in visitants from all sides. 

ISOLANI. 

Hm! 

So much the better ! I had framed my mind 
To hear of nought but warlike circumstance, 
Of marches, and attacks, and batteries ; 
And lo ! the Duke provides, and something too 
Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present 
To feast our eyes. 
illo (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to 
butler, whom he leads a little on one side). 
And how came you to know 
That the Count Galas joins us not ? 

BUTLER. 

Because 
He importuned me to remain behind. 

illo (with warmth). 
And you? — You hold out firmly ! 

[Grasping his hand with affection 
Noble Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

After the obligation which the Duke 
Had laid so newly on me 

ILLO. 

T had forgotten 
A pleasant duty — Major- General, 
I wish you joy ! 

ISOLANI. 

What, you mean, of his regiment ? 
I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter, 
The Duke has given him the very same 

* The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons 
daughters are entitled Princes and Princesses. 
f Carinthia. 



1S$ THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT I. 

In which he first saw service, and since then, 

Work'd himself, step by step, through each preferment, 

From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives 

A precedent of hope, a spur of action 

To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance 

An old deserving soldier makes his way. 

BUTLEK. 

I am perplex'd and doubtful, whether or no 

I dare accept this your congratulation. 

The Emperor has not yet confirm'd the appointment. 

ISOLANI. 

Seize it, friend ! Seize it ! The hand which in that post 
Placed you, is strong enough to keep you there, 
Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers ! 

ILLO. 

Ay, if we would but so consider it ! — 

If we would all of us consider it so ! 

The Emperor gives us nothing ; from the Duke 

Comes all — whate'er we hope, whate'er we have 

ISOLANI (tO ILLO). 

My noble brother ! did I tell you how 
The Duke will satisfy my creditors ? 
Will be himself my banker for the future, 
Make me once more a creditable man ! — 
And this is now the third time, think of that ! 
This kingly-minded man has rescued me 
From absolute ruin, and restored my honour. 

ILLO. 

that his power but kept pace with his wishes ! 
Why, friend ! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. 
But at Vienna, brother! — here's the grievance. — 
What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten 

His arm, and where they can, to clip his pinions, 
Then these new dainty requisitions ! these, 
Which this same Questenberg brings hither ! — 

BUTLEB. 

Ay! 
These requisitions of the Emperor, — 

1 too have heard about them ; but I hope 
The Duke will not draw back a single inch 1 



SC II.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 1 83 

ILLO. 

Not from his right most surely, unless first 
— From office ! 

butlek (shocked and confused) 
Know you aught then ? You alarm me. 
isolani (at the sam,e time with butlek, and in a 

hurrying voice). 
We should be ruind, every one of us ! 

ILLO. 

No more ! 
Yonder I see our worthy friend * approaching 
With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini. 

butler (shaking his head significantly) 
I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 

Scene II. 
Enter Octavio, Piccolomini, and Questenberg 
octayio (still in the distance). 
Ay ! ay ! more still ! Still more new visitors ! 
Acknowledge, friend ! that never was a camp, 
Which held at once so many heads of heroes. 

[questenberg. 
Let none approach a camp of Friedland's troops 
Who dares to think unworthily of war ; 
E'en I myself had nigh forgot its evils 
When I surveyed that lofty soul of order, 
By which while it destroys the world, — itself 
Maintains the greatness which itself created.] 

octavio (approaching nearer). 
Welcome, Count Isolani ! 

isolani. 

My noble brother ! 
Even now am I arrived ; it had been else my duty— 

octavio. 
And Colonel Butler — trust me, I rejoice 
Thus to renew acquaintance with a man 
Whose worth and services I know and honour. 
See, see, my friend ! 

* Spoken with a sneer. 



i84 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT I. 

There might we place at once before our eyes 
The sum of war's whole trade and mystery — 

[To Questenberg, 'presenting Butler 
and Isolani at the same time to him. 
These two the total sum — Strength and Dispatch. 

QUESTENBERG (to OCTAVIO). 

And lo ! betwixt them both, experienced Prudence ! 

octavio (presenting questenberg to butler and isolani). 

The Chamberlain and War-Commissioner Questenberg, 

The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 

The long- tried friend and patron of all soldiers, 

We honour in this noble visitor. [ Universal silence 

illo {moving towards questenberg). 
Tis not the first time, noble Minister, 
You have shown our camp this honour. 
questenberg 

Once before 
I stood beside these colours. 

ILLO. 

Perchance too you remember where that was. 

It was at Znaim * in Moravia, where 

You did present yourself upon the part 

Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke 

That he would straight assume the chief command 

questenberg. 
To supplicate ? Nay, bold General ! 
So far extended neither my commission 
(At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal. 

_ . ILLO. 

Well, well, then — to compel him, if you choose. 
I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 
Had suffer'd rotal rout upon the Lech. 
Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, 
Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing 
Onwards into the very heart of Austria 
At that time you and Werdenberg appear 'd 
Before our General, storming him with prayers, 
And menacing the Emperors displeasure, 
Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness. 
* A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from Vienna 
to Prague. 



SO. 11 ] THE PICC0L0M1NI, 185 

isolani (steps up to them). 
Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough, 
Wherefore with your commission of to-day 
You were not all too willing to remember 
Your former one. 

QTTESTEKBERG. 

Why not, Count Isolani ? 
No contradiction sure exists between them. 
It was the urgent business of that time 
To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand ; 
And my commission of to-day instructs me 
To free her from her good friends and protectors 

ILLO. 

A worthy office ! After with our blood 

We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, 

To be swept out of it is all our thanks, 

The sole reward of all our hard- won victories. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Unless that wretched land be doomed to suffer 

Only a change of evils, it must be 

Freed from the scourge alike of friend or foe. 

ILLO. 

What ? 'Twas a favourable year ; the boors 
Can answer fresh demands already. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Nay, 
If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds — 

# ISOLANI. 

The war maintains the war. Are the boors ruin VI ? 
The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 

QUESTENBERG. 

And is the poorer by even so many subjects 

ISOLANI. 

Poh! we are all his subjects 

QUESTENBERG, 

Yet with a difference, General ! The one fill 

With profitable industry the purse, 

The others are well skill'd to empty it. 

The sword has made the Emperor poor ; the plough 

Must reinvigorate his resources. 



186 THE PICCOLOMINT. 'ACT I, 

ISOLANI. 

Sure! 
Times are not yet so bad. Me thinks I see 

[Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments of 

QtJESTENBERG. 

Good store of gold that still remains uncoin'd. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Thank Heaven ! that means have been found out to hide 
Some little from the fingers of the Croats. 

ILLO. 

There ! The Stawata and the Martinitz, 

On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces, 

To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians — 

Those minions of court favour, those court harpies, 

Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens 

Driven from their house and home — who reap no harvests 

Save in the general calamity — 

Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock 

The desolation of their country — these, 

Let these, and such as these, support the war, 

The fatal war, which they alone enkindled ! 

BUTLER. 

And those state-parasites, who have their feet 

So constantly beneath the Emperor's table, 

Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they 

Snap at it with dogs' hunger — they, forsooth, 

Would pare the soldier's bread and cross his reckoning i 

ISOLANI. 

My life long will it anger me to think, 
How when I went to court seven years ago, 
To see about new horses for our regiment, 
How from one antechamber to another 
They dragg'd me on, and left me by the hour 
To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering 
Feast-fatten'd slaves, as if I had come thither 
A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 
That fall beneath their tables. And, at last, 
Whom should they send me but a capuchin ! 
Straight I began to muster up my sins 
For absolution — but no such luck for me! 



SO. II. J THE PICCOLOMINI. 187 

This was the man, this capuchin, with whom 
I was to treat concerning the army horses * 
And I was forced at last to quit the field, 
The business unaccomplish'd. Afterwards 
The Duke procured me in three days, what T 
Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 

QUESTENBEKG. 

Yes, yes ! your travelling bills soon found their way tc us ! 
Too well I know we have still accounts to settle. 

ILLO. 

War is a violent trade : one cannot always 
Finish one's work by soft means ; every trifle 
Must not be blacken 'd into sacrilege. 
If we should wait till you, in solemn council, 
With due deliberation had selected 
The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, 
I' faith we should wait long — 

"Dash! and through with it!" — That's the better watch- 
word. 
Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature 
To make the best of a bad thing once past. 
A bitter and perplex'd "what shall I do?" 
Is worse to man than worst necessity. 

QUESTENBEKG. 

Ay, doubtless, it is true ; the Duke does spare us 
The troublesome task of choosing. 

BUTLER. 

Yes, the Duke 
Cares with a father's feelings for his troops ; 
But how the Emperor feels for us, we see. 

QUESTENBEKG. 

His cares and feelings all ranks share alike, 
Nor will he offer one up to another. 

ISOLANI. 

And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts 
As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve 
His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home. 

questenberg (with a sneer). 
Count! this comparison you make, not L 



188 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT X, 

ILLO. 

Why, were we all the Court supposes us 
Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty 

questenbeeg (gravely). 
You have taken liberty — it was not given you. 
And therefore it becomes an urgent duty 
To rein it in with curbs. 

[ILLO. 

Expect to find a restive steed in us, 

QUESTENBEEG. 

A better rider may be found to rule it. 

ILLO. 

He only brooks the rider who has tamed him. 

QUESTENBEEG 

Ay, tame him once, and then a child may lead him. 

ILLO. 

The child, we know, is found for him already 

QUESTENBEEG. 

Be duty, sir, your study, not a name 

butlee (who has stood aside with piccolomini, but with visibU 
interest in the conversation, advances.) 
Sir President, the Emperor has in Germany 
A splendid host assembled ; in this kingdom 
Full twenty thousand soldiers are cantooned, 
With sixteen thousand in Silesia ; 
Ten regiments are posted on the Weser, 
The Ehine, and Maine ; in Swabia there are six, 
And in Bavaria twelve, to face the Swedes ; 
Without including in th' account, the garrisons 
Who on the frontiers hold the fortresses. 
This vast and mighty host is all obedient 
To Friedland's captains ; and its brave commanders, 
Bred in one school, and nurtured with one milk, 
Are all excited by one heart and soul ; 
They are as strangers on the soil they tread, 
The sendee is their only house and home. 
No zeal inspires them for their country's cause, 
For thousands like myself were born abroad ; 
Nor care they for the Emp'ror, for one half 
Deserting other service fled to ours, 



SO. II.] THE PICCOLOMIHI. 180 

Indiff 'rent what their banner, whether 'twere 
The Double Eagle, Lily, or the Lion. 
Yet one sole man can rein this fiery host 
By equal rule, by equal love and fear ; 
Blending the many-nationed whole in one ; 
And like the lightning's fires securely led 
Down the conducting rod, e'en thus his power 
Eules all the mass, from guarded post to post, 
From where the sentry hears the Baltic roar, 
Or views the fertile vales of the Adige, 
E'en to the body-guard, who holds his watch 
Within the precincts of th' Imperial palace ! 

QUESTENBERG-. 

What's the short meaning of this long harangue ? 

BUTLER. 

That the respect, the love, the confidence, 

Which makes us willing subjects of Duke Friedland, 

Are not to be transferr'd to the first comer 

That Austria's Court may please to send to us 

We have not yet so readily forgotten 

How the command came into Friedland's hands. 

Was it, forsooth, the Emperor's majesty 

That gave the army ready to his hand, 

And only sought a leader for it ? No. 

The army then had no existence. He, 

Friedland it was, who called it into being, 

And gave it to his sovereign — but receiving 

No army at his hand ; — nor did the Emperor 

Give Wallenstein to us as General. — No, 

It was from Wallenstein we first received 

The Emperor as our master and our sov'reign ; 

And he, he only, binds us to our banners !] 

octavio {interposing and addressing questenberg). 
My noble friend, 
This is no more than a remembrancing 
That you are now in camp, and among warriors 
The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. 
Could he act daringly, unless he dared 
Talk even so ? One runs into the other. 
The boldness of this worthy officer, 

[Pointing to Butleb. 



190 THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT I. 

Which now is but mistaken in its mark, 
Preserved, when nought but boldness could preserve it 
To the Emperor, his capital city, Prague, 
In a most formidable mutiny 

Of the whole garrison. [Military music at a distance. 

Hah! here they come ! 

ILLO. 

The sentries are saluting them: this signal 
Announces the arrival of the Duchess. 

OCTAVTO [tO QUESTENBERG). 

Then my son Max. too has returned. 'Twas he 
Fetch 'd and attended them from Carnthen hither 

ISOLANI (tO ILLO). 

Shall we not go in company to greet them ? 

ILLO. 

Well, let us go — Ho ! Colonel Butler, come. [To Octavio 
You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we meet 
The noble Envoy at the General's palace. 

[Exeunt all but Questenberg and Octavio 

Scene III. 
Questenberg and Octavio. 

questenberg (with signs of aversion and astonishment 
What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio ! 
What sentiments ! what fierce, uncurb 'd defiance ! 
And were this spirit universal — 

OCTAVIO. 

Em! 
You are now acquainted with three-fourths of the army 

questenberg. 
Where must we seek then for a second host 
To have the custody of this ? That Illo 
Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then 
This Butler too — he cannot even conceal 
The passionate workings of his ill intentions. 

OCTAVIO. 

Quickness of temper — irritated pride ; 
'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. 
I know a spell that will soon dispossess 
The evil spirit in him 



SO III. 



THE PICCOLOMINI. 19 1 



questenbebg (walking up and down in evident disquiet) 
Friend, friend ! 
! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffer'd 
Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There 
We saw it only with a courtier's eyes, 
Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the throne. 
We had not seen the War-chief, the Commander, 
The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here, 
'Tis quite another thing. 

Here is no Emperor more — the Duke is Emperor, 
Alas, my friend ! alas, my noble friend ! 
This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp 
Strikes my hopes prostrate. 

octavio. 

Now you see yourself 
Of what a perilous kind the office is, 
Which you deliver to me from the Court. 
The least suspicion of the General 
Costs me my freedom and my life, and would 
But hasten his most desperate enterprise. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted 
This madman with the sword, and placed such power 
In such a hand ? I tell you. he'll refuse, 
Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial orders. 
Friend, he can do't, and what he can, he will. 
And then the impunity of his defiance — 
Oh ! what a proclamation of our weakness ! 

OCTAVIO. 

D'ye think too, he has brought his wife and daughter 

Without a purpose hither ? Here in camp ! 

And at the very point of time, in which 

We're arming for the war? That he has taken 

These, the last pledges of his loyalty, 

Away from out the Emperor's domains — 

This is no doubtful token of the nearness 

Of some eruption ? 

QTJESTENBERG. 

How shall we hold footing 
Beneath this tempest, which collects itself 



192 THE PICCOLOMINI. 

And threats us from all quarters ? The enemy 
Of the empire on our borders, now already 
The master of the Danube, and still farther, 
And farther still, extending every hour ! 
In our interior the alarum-bells 
Of insurrection— peasantry in arms — 
All orders discontented — and the army, 
Just in the moment of our expectation 
Of aidance from it — lo ! this very army 
Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline, 
Loosen 'd, and rent asunder from the state 
And from their sovereign, the blind instrument 
Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon 
Of fearful power, which at his will he wields ! 

OCTAVIO 

Nay, nay, friend ! let us not despair too soon 
Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds, 
And many a resolute, who now appears 
Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden, 
Find in his breast a heart he wot not of, 
Let but a single honest man speak out 
The true name of his crime ! Remember too, 
We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. 
Counts Altringer and G alias have maintain 'd 
Their little army faithful to its duty, 
And daily it becomes more numerous. 
Nor can he take us by surprise : you know 
J hold him all encompass'd by my listeners. 
Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing — 
No step so small, but instantly I hear it ; 
Yea, his own mouth discloses it. 

QTJESTENBEKG- 

'Tis quite 
Incomprehensible, that he detects not 
The foe so near ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Beware, you do not think, 
That I by lying arts, and complaisant 
Hypocrisy, have skulked into his graces, 
Or with the substance of smooth professions 
Nourish his all-confiding friendship ! No 



SC. 111.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 198 

Oompell'd alike by prudence, and that duty 
Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign, 
To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet 
Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits ! 

QUESTENBEEG. 

It is the visible ordinance of Heaven. 

OCTAVIO. 

I know not what it is that so attracts 

And links him both to me and to my son. 

Comrades and friends we always were — long habit, 

Adventurous deeds performed in company, 

And all those many and various incidents 

Which store a soldier's memory with affections, 

Had bound us long and early to each other — 

Yet I can name the day, when all at once 

His heart rose on me, and his confidence 

Shot out into sudden growth. It was the morning 

Before the memorable fight at Liitzen. 

Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out, 

To press him to accept another charger. 

At a distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 

I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him, 

And had related all my bodings to him, 

Long time he stared upon me, like a man 

Astounded : thereon fell upon my neck, 

And manifested to me an emotion 

That far outstripp'd the worth of that small service 

Since then his confidence has follow'd me 

With the same pace that mine has fled from him. 

QUESTENBEEG 

You lead your son into the secret ? 

OCTAVIO. 

No! 

QUESTENBEEG. 

What ! and not warn him either what bad hands 
His lot has placed him in ? 

OCTAVIO. 

I must perforce 
Leave him in wardship to his innocence. 
His young and open soul — dissimulation 

o 



194 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT L 

Is foreign to its habits ! Ignorance 
Alone can keep alive the cheerful air. 
The unembarrass'd sense and light free spirit, 
That make the Duke secure. 

QUESTENBEKG (anxiously). 

My honour'd friend ! most highly do I deem 

Of Colonel Piccolomini — yet — if 

Reflect a little 

OCTAVIO. 

I must venture it. 
Hush ! — There he comes ! 

Scene IV. 
Max. Piccolomini, Octavio Piccolomini, Questenbeeg. 

max. 
Ha ! there he is himself. Welcome, my father ! 

[He embraces his father. As he turns rounds he 06- 
serves Questenberg, and draws hack with a cold 
and reserved air. 
You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you. 

OCTAVIO. 

How, Max. ? Look closer at this visitor. 
Attention, Max. an old friend merits — Reverence 
Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 

max. (drily). 
Von Questenberg ! — Welcome — if you bring with you 
Aught good to our head quarters. 

questenbeeg {seizing his hand). 

Nay, draw not 
Your hand away, Count Piccolomini ! 
Not on mine own account alone I seized it, 
And nothing common will I say therewith. 

[Taking the hands of both, 
Octavio — Max. Piccolomini ! 
O saviour names, and full of happy omen ! 
Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria, 
While two such stars, with blessed influences 
Beaming protection, shine above her hosts. 



SO. IV.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 195 

MAX. 

Heh ! — Noble minister ! You miss your part. 
You came not here to act a panegyric. 
You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us — 
I must not be beforehand with my comrades. 

OCTAVIO [to MAX.). 

He comes from court, where people are not quite 
So well contented with the Duke, as here. 

MAX. 

What now have they contrived to find out in him ? 

That he alone determines for himself 

What he himself alone doth understand ! 

Well, therein he does right, and will persist in 't 

Heaven never meant him for that passive thing 

That can be struck and hammer'd out to suit 

Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance 

To every tune of every minister : 

It goes against his nature — he can't do it, 

He is possess 'd by a commanding spirit, 

And his, too, is the station of command. 

And well for us it is so ! There exist 

Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use 

Their intellects intelligently. Then 

W ell for the whole, if there be found a man, 

Who makes himself what nature destined him, 

The pause, the central point, to thousand thousands—* 

Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column,. 

Where all may press with joy and confidence 

Now such a man is Wall ens tein ; and if 

Another better suits the court — no other 

But such a one as he can serve the army 

QUESTENBEKG 

The army ? Doubtless ! 

• [max. 
v What delight t'observe 

How he incites and strengthens all around him, 
Infusing life and vigour. Every power 
Seems as it were redoubled by his presence : 
He draws forth every latent energy, 
Showing to each his own peculiar talent, 

o 2 



196 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT I 

Yet leaving all to be what nature made thein, 
And watching only that they be nought else 
In the right place and time ; and he has skill 
To mould the powers of all to his own end. 

QUESTENBEEG. 

But who denies his knowledge of mankind, 
And skill to use it ? Our complaint is this : — 
That in the master he forgets the servant, 
As if he claimed by birth his present honours 

MAX. 

And does he not so ? Is he not endowed 
With every gift and power to carry out 
The high intents of nature, and to win 
A ruler's station by a ruler's talent ? 

QUESTENBEEG. 

So then it seems to rest with him alone 
What is the worth of all mankind beside ! 

MAX. 

Uncommon men require no common trust ; 
Give him but scope, and he will set the bounds 

QTJESTENBERG 

The proof is yet to come. 

MAX. 

Thus are ye ever. 
Ye shrink from every thing of depth, and think 
Yourselves are only safe while ye 're in shallows.] 

OCTAVIO (tO QUESTENBEEG). 

Twere best to yield with a good grace, my friend. 
Of him there you'll make nothing. 

max. (continuing). 

In their fear 
They call a spirit up, and when he comes, 
Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread hiin 
More than the ills for which they call'd him up 
The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 
Like things of every day. But in the field, 
Ay, there the Present Being makes itself felt. 
The personal must command, the actual eye 
Examine. If to be the chieftain asks 



SC. IV.} THE PICCOLOMINI 197 

All that is great in nature, let it be 

Likewise his privilege to move and act 

In all the correspondences of greatness. 

The oracle within him, that which lives, 

He must invoke and question — not dead books, 

Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers. 

OCTAVIO. 

My son ! of those old narrow ordinances 

Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights 

Of priceless value, which oppress'd mankind 

Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. 

For always formidable was the league 

And partnership of free power with free will. 

The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds, 

Is yet no devious path. Straight forward goes 

The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path 

Of the cannon ball. Direct it flies, and rapid ; 

Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches, 

My son ! the road the human being travels, 

That, on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow 

The river's course, the valley's playful windings, 

Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines, 

Honouring the holy bounds of property ! 

And thus secure, though late, leads to its end. 

QUESTENBERG. 

hear your father, noUe youth ! hear him, 
Who is at once the hero and the man. 

OCTAVIO. 

My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee ! 

A war of fifteen years 

Hath been thy education and thy school. 

Peace hast thou never witness 'd ! There exists 

An higher than the warrior's excellence. 

In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 

The vast and sudden deeds of violence, 

Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment, 

These are not they, my son, that generate 

The Calm, the Blissful, and the enduring Mighty ! 

Lo there ! the soldier, rapid architect ! 

Builds his light town of canvas, and at once 

The whole scene moves and bustles momently. 



198 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT I- 

With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel 

The motley market fills ; the roads, the streams 

Are crowded with new freights ; trade stirs and hurries ! 

But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, 

The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. 

Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard 

The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, 

&nd the year's harvest is gone utterly. 

MAX. 

let the Emperor make peace, my father ! 
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel 
For the first violet * of the leafless spring, 
Pluck'd in those quiet fields where I have journey 'd ! 

OCTAVIO. 

What ails thee ? What so moves thee all at onc« ? 

MAX. 

Peace have I ne'er beheld ? I have beheld it. 

From thence am I come hither : ! that sight, 

It glimmers still before me, like some landscape 

Left in the distance, — some delicious landscape ! 

My road conducted me through countries where 

The war has not yet reach'd. Life, life, my father^- 

My venerable father, life has charms 

Which we have ne'er experienced. We have been 

But voyaging along its barren coasts, 

Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, 

That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship, 

House on the wild sea with wild usages, 

Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays 

Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing. 

Whateer in the inland dales the land conceals 

Of fair and exquisite, O ! nothing, nothing, 

Do we behold of that in our rude voyage. 

octavio (attentive, with an appearance of uneasitiess^ 
And so your journey has revealed this to you ? 

• In the original, 

" Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb'ich hin mit Freuden 
Furs erste Veilchen, das der Marz uns bringt, 
Das durftige Pfand der neuverjungten Erde." 



SO. IV. j THE PICCOLOMINI. 1 99 

MAX. 

'Twas the first leisure of my life. tell me, 

What is the meed and purpose of the toil, 

The painful toil which robb'd me of my youth, 

Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary, 

A spirit uninform'd, unornamented ! 

For the camp's stir, and crowd, and ceaseless laruni, 

The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet, 

The unvaried, still returning hour of duty, 

Word of command, and exercise of arms — 

There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this, 

To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart ! 

Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not— 

This cannot be the sole felicity, 

These cannot be man's best and only pleasures t 

OCTAYIO. 

Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey. 

MAX. 

! day thrice lovely ! when at length the soldier 
Eeturns home into life ; when he becomes 
A fellow-man among his fellow-men. 
The colours are unfurl'd, the cavalcade 
Marshals, and now the buzz is hush'd, and hark ! 
Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home I 
The caps and helmets are all garlanded 
With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields* 
The city gates fly open of themselves, 
They need no longer the petard to tear them. 
The ramparts are all filled with men and women, 
With peaceful men and women, that send onwards 
Kisses and welcomings upon the air, 
Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures. 
From all the towers rings out the merry peal, 
The joyous vespers of a bloody day. 
O happy man, fortunate ! for whom 
The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, 
The faithful tender arms with mute embracing. 
questenberg [apparently much affected). 
that you should speak 
Of such a distant, distant time, and not 
Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 



800 THE PICCOLOMINI. [kOT L 

max. (turning round to him quick and vehement). 
Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna ! 
I will deal openly with you, Questenberg. 
Just now, as first I saw you standing here, 
(I'll own it to you freely,) indignation 
Crowded and press'd my inmost soul together. 
'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye ! — and the warrior, 
It is the warrior that must force it from you. 
Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him, 
Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows 
What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, 
And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy; 
Which yet's the only way to peace : for if 
War intermit not during war, how then 
And whence can peace come ? Your own plagues fall on you ! 
Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. 
And here I make this vow, here pledge myself, 
My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein, 
And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye 
Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [Exit. 

Scene V. 

QUESTENBEKG, OcTAVIO PlCCOLOMINI. 
QUESTENBERG. 

Alas, alas ! and stands it so ? 

[Then in pressing and impatient tones 
What friend ! and do we let him go away 
In this delusion — let him go away ? 
Not oall him back immediately, not open 
His eyes upon the spot? 

octavio (recovering himself out of a deep study} 
He has now open'd mine, 
And I see more than pleases me. 

QUESTENBERG. 

What is it? 

OCTAVIO. 

Curse on this journey! 

QUESTENBERG. 

But why so ? What is it? 



SO. V.J THE PICCOLOMINI. 201 

OCTAVIO. 

Corns, come along, friend ! I must follow up 
The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes 
Are open'd now, and I must use them. Come ! 

[Draws Questenberg on with him. 

QUESTENBERG. 

What now ? Where go you then ? 

OCTAVIO. 

To her herself. 

QUESTENBERG 

To 

octavio (interrupting him, and correcting himself) 
To the Duke. Come let us go — Tis done, 'tis done, 
I see the net that is thrown over him. 
Oh ! he returns not to me as he went 

questenberg. 
Nay, hut explain yourself. 

OCTAVIO. 

And that I should not 
Foresee it, not prevent this journey ! Wherefore 
Did I keep it from him ? — You were in the right 
I should have warn'd him ! Now it is too late. 

QUESTENBERG. 

But what's too late ? Bethink yourself, my friend, 
That you are talking absolute riddles to me. 

octavio (more collected). 
Come ! to the Duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour 
Which he appointed you for audience. Come ! 
A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey ! 

[He leads Questenberg off. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. 
Changes to a spacious Chamber in the House of the Duke of 
Priedland. — Servants employed in putting the tables and 
chairs in order. — During this enters Seni, like an old 
Italian Doctor, in black, and clothed somewhat fantastic- 
ally. He carries a white staff, with which he marks out 
the quarters of the heavens. 

FIRST servant. 
Come — to it, lads, to it ! Make an end of it. I hear the 



202 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT EL 

* sentry call out, " Stand to your arms ! " They will be here 
in a minute. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Why were we not told before that the audience would bo 
held here? Nothing prepared — no orders — no instructions. 

THIRD SERVANT. 

Ay, and why was the balcony chamber countermanded, that 
with the great worked carpet ? There one can look about one. 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. He says 
it is an unlucky chamber. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

Poh ! stuff and nonsense ! That's what I call a hum. A 
chamber is a chamber ; what much can the place signify in 
the affair? 

Seni [with gravity). 

My son, there's nothing insignificant, 

Nothing ! But yet in every earthly thing 

First and most principal is place and time. 
first servant [to the second). 

Say nothing to him, Nat. The Duke himself must let him 
have his own will. 

seni [counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till 
he comes to eleven, which he repeats). 
Eleven ! an evil number ! Set twelve chairs. 
Twelve ! twelve signs hath the zodiac : five and seven^ 
The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

And wnat may you have to object against eleven? I should 
like to know that now. 

SENI. 

Eleven is transgression ; eleven oversteps 
The ten commandments. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

That's good ! and why do you call five a holy number ? 

seni. 
Five is the soul of man : for even as man 
Is mingled up of good and evil, so 
The five is the first number that's made up 
Of even and odd. 



SC. II ] THE PICCOLOMINI. 203 

SECOND SERVANT. 

The foolish old coxcomb ! 

FIEST SERVANT. 

Ay ! let him alone though. I like to hear him ; there is 
more in his words than can be seen at first sight. 

THIRD SERVANT. 

OIF, they come. 

SECOND SERVANT 

There ! Out at the side-door. 

[They hurry off. Seni follows slowly. A Page 
brings the staff of command on a red cushion, and 
places it on the table near the Duke's chair. They 
are announced from without, and the wings of the 
door fly open. 

Scene II. 
Wallenstein, Duchess 
wallenstein. 
You went then through Vienna, were presented 
To the Queen of Hungary '? 

DUCHESS. 

Yes ; and to the Empress too, 
And by both Majesties were we admitted 
To kiss the hand. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And how was it received, 
That I had sent for wife and daughter hithei 
To the camp, in winter- time ? 

DUCHESS. 

I did even that 
Which you commission'd me to do. I told them, 
You had determined on our daughter's marriage, 
And wish'd, ere yet you went into the field, 
To show the elected husband his betrothed. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And did they guess the choice which I had made ? 

DUCHESS. 

They only hoped and wish'd it may have fallen 
Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble. 



204 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II. 

WALLENSTETN. 

And you — what do you wish, Elizabeth ? 

DUCHESS. 

Your will, you know, was always mine. 

wallenstein (after a pause). 

' Well then— 
And in all else, of what kind and complexion 
Was your reception at the court ? 

[The Duchess casts her eyes on the ground, and 
remains silent. 
Hide nothing from me. How were you received ? 

DUCHESS. 

! my dear lord, all is not what it was. 
A canker-worm, my lord, a canker-worm 
Has stolen into the bud. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ay ! is it so ! 
What, they were lax? they fail'd of the old respect? 

DUCHESS. 

Not of respect. No honours were omitted, 

No outward courtesy ; but in the place 

Of condescending, confidential kindness, 

[Familiar and endearing, there were given me 

Only these honours and that solemn courtesy. 

Ah ! and the tenderness which was put on, 

It was the guise of pity not of favour. 

No ! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife, 

Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so — 

Not wholly so should she have been received. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes, yes ; they have ta'en offence. My latest conduct 
They rail'd at it, no doubt. 

DUCHESS. 

that they had ! 

1 have been long accustomed to defend you, 
To heal and pacify distemper'd spirits. 

No ; no one rail'd at you. They wrapp'd them up, 
Heaven ! in such oppressive, solemn silence ! — 
Here is no every-day misunderstanding, 
No transient pique, no cloud that passes over ; 



so. n.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 205 

Something most luckless, most unhealable, 
Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary 
Used formerly to call me her dear aunt, 
And ever at departure to embrace me — 

WALLENSTEIN 

Now she omitted it ? 

duchess (wiping away her tears after a pause\ 
She did embrace me, 
But then first when I had already taken 
My formal leave, and when the door already 
Had closed upon me, then did she come out 
In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself, 
And press'd me to her bosom, more with anguish 
Than tenderness. 

wallenstein (seizes her hand soothingly). 
Nay, now collect yourself. 
And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein, 
And of our other friends there ? — 

duchess (shaking her head). 

I saw none. 
wallenstein. 
The Ambassador from Spain, who once was wont 
To plead so warmly for me ? — 
duchess. 

Silent, silent! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

These suns then are eclipsed for us< Henceforward 
Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light. 

DUCHESS. 

And were it — were it, my dear lord, in that 
Which mov'd about the court in buzz and whisper, 
But in the country let itself be heard 
Aloud — in that which Father Lamormain 
In sundry hints and 

WALLENSTEIN (eagerly). 

Lamormain ! what said hs t 

DUCHESS. 

That you're accused of having daringly 
O'erstepped the powers entrusted to you, charged 



208 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II 

With traitorous contempt of the Emperor 

And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian, 

He and the Spaniards stand up jour accusers — 

That there's a storm collecting over you 

Of far more fearful menace than that former one 

Which whiiTd you headlong down at Regensburg 

And people talk, said he, of- Ah ! — 

[Stifling extreme emotion 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Proceed ! 

DUCHESS 



I cannot utter it! 



WALLENSTEIN 

Proceed ! 



DUCHESS. 

They talk - 

WALLENSTEIN 

Well! 

DUCHESS 

Of a second {catches her voice and hesitate$\ 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Second 



DUCHESS 

More disgraceful 
Dismission 

WALLENSTEIN 

Talk they? 
[Strides across the Chamber in vehement agitation. 

! they force, they thrust me 
With violence, against my own will, onward ! 

duchess (presses near to him in entreaty). 
! if there yet be time, my husband ! if 
By giving way and by submission, this 
Can be averted — my dear lord, give way ! 
Win down your proud heart to it ! Tell that heart. 
It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor 
Before whom you retreat. let no longer 
Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning 
With abhorr'd venomous glosses. Stand you up 



EG JJJ.J THE PlCCOLOMINi. 207 

Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth, 

And drive before you into uttermost shame 

These slanderous liars ! Few firm friends have we— 

You know it ! — The swift growth of our good fortune, 

It hath but set us up a mark for hatred. 

What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favour 

Stand not before us ! ' 

Scene III. 

Enter the Countess Tekzky, leading in her hand the Princess 
Thekla, richly adorned with Brilliants. 

Countess, Theexa, Wallenstein, Duchess 

Countess. 
How, sister ! What, already upon business ? 

[Observing the countenance of the Duchess 
And business of no pleasing kind I see, 
Ere he has gladden'd at his child. The first 
Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland ! father ! 
This is thy daughter. 

[Thekla approaches with a shy and timid air, and 
bends herself as about to kiss his hand. He re 
ceives her in his arms, and remains standing foi 
some time lost in the feeling of her presence 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes ! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me : 
I take her as the pledge of greater fortune 

DUCHESS. 

Twas but a little child when you departed 
To raise up that great army for the Emperor : 
And after, at the close of the campaign, 
When you returned home, out of Pomerania, 
Your daughter was already in the convent, 
Wherein she has remained till now. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The while 

We in the field here gave our cares and toils 
To make her great, and fight her a free way 
To the loftiest earthly good ; lo ! mother Nature 
Within the peaceful silent convent walls 



808 THE PICCOICMINI. [ACT a 

Has done her part, and out of her free grace 
Hath she bestow 'd on the beloved child 
The god-like ; and now leads her thus adorn'd 
To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope. 

DUCHESS (to THEKLA). 

Thou wouldst not now have recognised thy father, 
Wouldst thou, my child ? She counted scarce eight years, 
When last she saw your face. 

THEKLA. 

yes, yes, mother ! 
At the first glance ! — My father has not alter'd. 
The form that stands before me falsifies 
No feature of the image that hath lived 
So long within me ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The voice of my child ! 

[Then after a pause 
I was indignant at my destiny, 
That it denied me a man-child, to be 
Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune, 
And re-illume my soon extinguished being 
In a proud line of princes. 
I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head, 
So lovely in its maiden bloom will I 
Let fall the garland of a life of war. 
Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it, 
Transmuted to a regal ornament. 
Around these beauteous brows. 

[He clasps her in his arms as Piccolomini enters 

Scene IV. 

Enter Max. Piccolomini, and some time after Count Teezky, 

the others remaining as before. 

COUNTESS. 

There comes the Paladin who protected us. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Max. ! Welcome, ever welcome ! Always wert thou 
The morning star of my best joys ! 

MAX. 

My General 



SC. IV.] THE PICCOLOMINI, 200 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Till now it was the Emperor who rewarded thee, 
I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound 
The father to thee, Max. ! the fortunate father, 
And this debt Friedland's self must pay. 

MAX. 

My prince ! 
You made no common hurry to transfer it. 
I come with shame : yea, not without a pang ! 
For scarce have I arrived here, scarce deliver'd 
The mother and the daughter to your arms, 
But there is brought to me from your equerry * 
A splendid richly-plated hunting dress 
So to remunerate me for my troubles — 
Yes, yes, remunerate me ! Since a trouble 
It must be, a mere office, not a favour 
Which I leapt forward to receive, and which 
I came with grateful heart to thank you for. 
No ! 'twas not so intended, that my business 
Should be my highest best good fortune ! 

[Tekzky enters, and delivers letters to the Duke, 
which he breaks open hurriedly. 

COUNTESS (tO MAX.). 

Remunerate your trouble ! For his joy 

He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting 

For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel 

So tenderly — my brother it beseems 

To show himself for ever great and princely. 

THEKLA. 

Then I too must have scruples of his love : 
For his munificent hands did ornament me 
Ere yet the father s heart had spoken to me. 

* A reviewer in the Literary Gazette observes that, in these lines, Mr. 
Coleridge has misapprehended the meaning of the word " zug," a team, trans* 
mating it as " anzug," a suit of clothes. The following version, as a substitute, 
I propose : — 

When from your stables there is brought to me 
A team of four most richly harnessed horses. 
The term, however, is "jagd-zug," which may mean a "hunting equipage," 
or a " hunting stud ; " although Hilpert gives only " a team of four horses." 

P 



210 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II. 

MAX 

Yes ; 'tis his nature ever to be giving 
And making happy. 

[He grasps the hand of the Duchess with xtili in 
creasing warmth. 

How my heart pours out 
Its all of thanks to him ! ! how I seem 
To utter all things in the dear name — Friedland. 
While I shall live, so long will I remain 
The captive of this name : in it shall bloom 
My every fortune, every lovely hope. 
Inextricably as in some magic ring 
In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me ! 

countess {who during this time has been anxiously watching 
the duke, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the 
letters). 

My brother wishes us to leave him. Come. 

wallenstein {turns himself round quick, collects himself, 

and speaks with cheerfulness to the duchess). 
Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp, 
Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max., 
Will now again administer your old office, 
While we perform the sovereign's business here. 

[Max. Piccolomini offers the Duchess his arm; the 
Countess accompanies the Pkincess 

teezky [calling after him). 
Max., we depend on seeing you at the meeting. 

Scene V, 
Wallenstein. Count Tekzky 
wallenstein [in deep thought, to himself^. 
She has seen all things as they are — It is so. 
And squares completely with my other notices 
They have determined finally in Vienna, 
Have given me my successor already ; 
It is the King of Hungary, Ferdinand, 
The Emperor's delicate son ! he's now their saviour, 
He's the new star that's rising now ! Of us 
Thev think themselves already fairly rid, 



SC. V.J THE PIOCOLOMINI. 211 

And as we were deceased, the heir already 

Is entering on possession — Therefore — despatch ! 

[As he turns round he observes Terzky, and givm 
him a letter. 
Count Altringer will have himself excused, 
And Gallas too-— I like not this ! 

TEEZKY 

And if 
Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away, 
One following the other. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Altringer 
£s master of the Tyrol passes. I must forthwith 
Send some one to him, that he let not in 
The Spaniards on me from the Milanese. 

Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader 

In contraband negociations, he 

Has shown himself again of late. What brings he 

From the Count Thur ? 

TERZKY. 

The Count communicates 
He has found out the Swedish Chancellor 
At Halberstadt, where the convention's held, 
Who says, you've tired him out, and that he'll have 
No further dealings with you. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And why so ? 

TERZKY. 

He says, you are never in earnest in your speeches ; 
That you decoy the Swedes — to make fools of them ; 
Will league yourself with Saxony against them, 
And at last make yourself a riddance of them 
With a paltry sum of money. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

So then, doubtless, 
Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects 
That I shall yield him some fair German tract 
For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last 
On our own soil and native territory 



212 THE PICCOLOMINI L ACT 11 

May be no longer our own lords and masters ! 
An excellent scheme ! No, no ! They must be off, 
Off, off ! away ! we want no such neighbours. 

TEKZKY. 

Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of land- 
It goes not from your portion. If you win 
The game, what matters it to you who pays it ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this 
Never shall it be said of me, I parcell'd 
My native land away, dismember'd Germany, 
Betray 'd it to a foreigner, in order 
To come with stealthy tread, and filch away 
My own share of the plunder — Never ! never ! 
No foreign power shall strike root in the empire, 
And least of all these Goths ! these hunger- wolves ! 
Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances 
Toward the rich blessings of our German lands ! 
I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets, 
But not a single fish of all the draught 
Shall they come in for. 

TERZKY. 

You will deal, however, 
More fairly with the Saxons ? they lose patience 
While you shift round and make so many curves. 
Say, to what purpose all these masks ? Your friends 
Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. 
There's Oxenstiern, there's Arnheim — neither knows 
What he should think of your procrastinations 
And in the end I prove the liar ; all 
Passes through me. I've not even your handwriting 

WALLENSTEIN 

I never give handwriting ; and thou knowest it 

TERZKY 

But how can it be known that you are in earnest, 

If the act follows not upon the word ? 

You must yourself acknowledge, that in all 

Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy, 

You might have done with safety all you have done. 



SC vi^ THE PICCOLOMINI. J^13 

Had you meant nothing further than to gull him 
For the Emperor's service. 

wallenstein (after a pause, during which he looks 
narrowly on teezky). 
And from whence dost thou know 
That I'm not gulling him for the Emperor's service ? 
Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you ? 
Dost thou know me so well ? When made I thee 
The intendant of my secret purposes ? 
I am not conscious that I ever open'd 
My inmost thoughts to thee. The Emperor, it is true, 
Hath dealt with me amiss ; and if I would, 
I could repay him with usurious interest 
For the evil he hath done me. It delights me 
To know my power ; but whether I shall use it, 
Of that, I should have thought that thou couldst speak 
No wiser than thy fellows. 

teezky. 
So hast thou always played thy game with us. 

[Enter Illo. 

Scene VI. 
Illo, Wallenstein, Teezky. 
wallenstein. 
How stand affairs without ? Are they prepared ? 

ILLO. 

You'll find them in the very mood you wish. 
They know about the Emperor's requisitions, 
And are tumultuous. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

How hath Isolani 
Declared himself ? 

ILLO. 

He's yours both soul and body, 
Since you built up again his Faro-bank. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And which way doth Kolatto bend ? Hast thou 
Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodati ? 

ILLO. 

What Piccolomini does, that they do too. 



214 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT li 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You mean, then, I may venture somewhat with them ? 

ILLO. 

— If you are assured of the Piccolomini. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Not more assured of mine own self. 

TERZKY. 

And yet 
I would you trusted not so much to Octavio, 
The fox ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou teachest me to know my man ? 
Sixteen campaigns I have made with that old warrior. 
Besides, I have his horoscope : 
We both are born beneath the like stars — in short, 

[With an air of mystery 
To this belongs its own peculiar aspect, 
If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest 

ILLO. 

There is among them all but this one voice, 
You must not lay down the command. I hear 
They mean to send a deputation to you. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

If I'm in aught to bind myself to them, 
They too must bind themselves to me. 

ILLO. 

Of course. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Their words of honour they must give, their oaths, 
Give them in writing to me, promising 
Devotion to my service unconditional. 

ILLO. 

Why not? 

TERZKY. 

Dev-^ion unconditional? 
The exception, of their duties towards Austria 
They'll always place among the premises. 
With this reserve 



SO VT.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 215 

w allen stein (shaking his head.) 
All unconditional 
No premises, no reserves. 

ILLO. 

A thought has struck rue. 
Does not Count Terzky give us a set banquet 
This evening? 

TERZKY. 

Yes ; and all the Generals 
Have been invited. 

ILLO (tO WALLENSTEIN). 

Say, will you here fully 
Commission me to use my own discretion ? 
I'll gain for you the Generals' word of honour, 
Even as you wish. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Gain me their signatures ! 
How you come by them, that is your concern. 

ILLO. 

And if I bring it to you, black on white, 
That all the leaders who are present here 
Give themselves up to you, without condition ; 
Say, will you then — then will you show yourself 
In earnest, and with some decisive action 
Try your fortune. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Get but the signatures ! 

Q ILLO. 

Think what thou dost, thou canst not execute 
The Emperor's orders, nor reduce thine armvj 
Nor send the regiments to the Spaniards' aid, 
Unless thou wouldst resign thy power for ever. 
Think on the other hand — thou canst not spurn 
The Emperor's high commands and solemn orders, 
Nor longer temporize, nor seek evasion, 
"Wouldst thou avoid a rupture with the court. 
Resolve then ! Wilt thou now by one bold ant 
Anticipate their ends, or doubting still, 
Await the extremity? 



210 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT IT. 

WALLENSTE1N. 

There's time before 
The extremity arrives. ] 

ILLO. 

Seize, seize the hour, 
Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment 
In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. 
To make a great decision possible, 
! many things, all transient and all rapid, 
Must meet at once : and, hai^y, they thus met 
May by that confluence be enforced to pause 
Time long enough for wisdom, though too short, 
Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple ! 
This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, 
Our best, our noblest, are assembled round you 
Their king like leader ! On your nod they wait. 
The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune 
Hath woven together in one potent web 
Instinct with destiny, let them not 
Unravel of themselves. If you permit 
These chiefs to separate, so unanimous 
Bring you them not a second time together. 
'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship, 
And every individual's spirit waxes 
In the great stream of multitudes. Behold 
They are still here, here still ! But soon the war 
Bursts them once more asunder, and in small 
Particular anxieties and Interests 
Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy 
Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day 
Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream. 
Will become sober, seeing but himself. 
Feel only his own weakness, and with speed 
Will face about, and march on in the old 
High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road, 
And seek but to make shelter in good plight. 

WALLENSTEIN 

The time is not yet come. 

TERZKY. 

So you say always. 
But when will it be time ? 



SC. VI.] THE PIGCOLOMINI. 217 

WALLEN STEIN 

When I shall say it. 

ILLO. 

You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours, 
Till the earthly hour escapes you. 0, believe me, 
In your own bosom are your destiny's stars. 
Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, 
This is your Venus ! and the sole malignant, 
The only one that harmeth you, is Doubt. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou speakest as thou understands. How oft 
And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter, 
That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth. 
Thy visual power subdues no mysteries ; 
Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth, 
Blind as that sub terrestrial, who with wan 
Lead-colour'd shine lighted thee into life. 
The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see. 
With serviceable cunning knit together 
The nearest with the nearest ; and therein 
I trust thee and believe thee ! but whate'er 
Full of mysterious import Nature weaves, 
And fashions in the depths — the spirit's ladder, 
That from this gross and visible world of dust 
Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, 
Builds itself up ; on which the unseen powers 
Move up and down on heavenly ministries — 
The circles in the circles, that approach 
The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit — 
These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye, 
Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre. 

[He walks across the Chamber, then returns, and 
standing still, proceeds. 
The heavenly constellations make not merely 
The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely 
Signify to the husbandman the seasons 
Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, 
That is the seed too of contingencies, 
Strew'd on the dark land of futurity 
In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate. 
Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time, 



218 THE P1CC0L0MINI. [ACT II. 

To watch the stars, select their proper hours, 
And trace with searching eye tne heavenly houses, 
Whether the enemy of growth and thriving 
Hide himself not, malignant, m his corner. 
Therefore permit me my own time Meanwhile 
Do you your part. As yet I cannot say 
What I shall do — only, give way I will not 
Depose me too they shall not. On these points 
You may rely. 

page (entering). 
My Lords, the Generals. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Let them come in 

[ TERZKY. 

Shall all the chiefs be present ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Twere needless. Both the Piccolomini 
Maradas, Butler, Forgcetsch, Deodati, 
KararTa, Tsolani — these may come. 

[Terzky goes out with the Page. 

WALLENSTEIN \tO ILLO). 

Hast thou ta'en heed that Questenberg was watched ? 
Had he no means of secret intercourse ? 

ILLO 

I have watched him closely — and he spoke with norje 
But with Octavio. ] 

Scene VII. 
Wallenstein, Terzky, Illo. — To them enter Questen- 
berg, Octavio, and Max. Piccolomini, Butler, lso 
lani, Maradas, and three other Generals. W alien- 
stein motions Questenberg, who in consequence takes 
the chair directly opposite to him; the others follow, 
arranging themselves according to their rank There 
reigns a momentary silence. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I have understood, 
Tis true, the sum and import, Questenberg, 
Of your instructions. I have weighed them well, 
And formed my final, absolute resolve : 



30. VII ] THE PICCOLOMINI. 219 

Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals 
Should hear the will of the Emperor from your mouth 
May't please you then to open your commission 
Before these noble Chieftains ? 

QUESTENBERG. 

I am ready 
To obey you ; but will first entreat your Highness, 
And all these noble Chieftains, to consider, 
The Imperial dignity and sovereign right 
Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption, 

WALLENSTEIN. 

We excuse all preface. 

QUESTENBERG. 

When his Majesty 
The Emperor to his courageous armies 
Presented in the person of Duke Friedland 
A most experienced and renown'd commander, 
He did it in glad hope and confidence 
To give thereby to the fortune of the war 
A rapid and auspicious change. The onset 
Was favourable to his royal wishes. 
Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons, 
The Swede's career of conquest check'd ! These lands 
Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland 
From all the streams of Germany forced hither 
The scattered armies of the enemy ; 
Hither invoked as round one magic circle 
The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstiern, 
Yea, and that never-conquerd King himself; 
Here finally, before the eye of Nurnberg, 
The fearful game of battle to decide. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

To the point, so please you. 

Q QUESTENBERG. 

A new spirit 
At once proclaimed to us the new commander. 
No longer strove blind rage with rage more blind ; 
But in th' enlighten'd field of skill was shown 
How fortitude can triumph over boldness, 
And scientific art outweary courage. 



223 THE PICC0L0MIN1. [ACT II 

In vain they tempt him to the fight, he only 
Entrenches him still deeper in his hold, 
As if to build an everlasting fortress. 
At length grown desperate, now, the king resolves 
To storm the camp and lead his wasted legions, 
Who daily fall by famine and by plague, 
To quicker deaths than hunger and disease. 
Through lines of barricades behind whose fence 
Death lurks within a thousand mouths of fire, 
He yet unconquer'd strives to storm his way. 
There was attack, and there resistance, such 
As mortal eye had never seen before : 
Kepulsed at last the king withdrew his troops 
From this so murd'rous field, and not a foot 
Of ground was gain'd by all that fearful slaughter. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Pray spare us these recitals from gazettes, 
Which we ourselves beheld with deepest horror. ] 

QUESTENBERG. 

In Nurnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left 

His fame — in Lutzen's plains his life. But who 

Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland 

After this day of triumph, this proud day, 

March'd toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, 

And vanish'd from the theatre of war ? 

While the young Weimar hero * forced his way 

Into Franconia, to the Danube, like 

Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes, 

Makes its own channel ; with such sudden speed 

He marched, and now at once 'fore Begensburg 

Stood to the affright of all good Catholic Christians. 

Then did Bavaria's well-deserving Prince 

Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need ; 

The Emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke FriedlancL 

Seven horsemen couriers sends he with the entreaty : 

He superadds his own, and supplicates 

Where as the sovereign lord he can command. 

In vain his supplication ! At this moment 

The Duke hears only his old hate and grudge, 

* Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who succeeded Gfustavus in command 



SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 221 

Barters the general good to gratify 
Private revenge — and so falls Kegensburg* 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Max., to what period of the war alludes he ? 
My recollection fails me here. 

MAX. 

He means 
When we were in Silesia. 

WALLENSTEIN 

Ay ! is it so ! 
But what had we to do there ? 

MAX. 

To beat out 
The Swedes and Saxons from the province. 

WALLENSTEIN 

True; 
In that description which the Minister gave, 
[ seemed to have forgotten the whole war. 

[To QUESTENBERG 

Well, but proceed a little. 

QUESTENBERG. 

£ We hoped upon the Oder to regain 

What on the Danube shamefully was lost. 

We looked for deeds of all-astounding grandeur 

Upon a theatre of war, on which 

A Friedland led in person to the field, 

And the famed rival of the great Gustavus 

Had but a Thurn and Arnheim to oppose him ! 

Yet the encounter of their mighty hosts 

Served but to feast and entertain each other. 

Our country groaned beneath the woes of war, 

f et nought but peace prevail'd in Friedland's camp ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Full many a bloody strife is fought in vain, 
Because its youthful general needs a vict'ry. 
But 'tis the privilege of th' old commander 
To spare the cost of fighting useless battles 
Merely to show that he knows how to conquer. 
It would have little help'd my fame to boast 
Of conquest o'er an Arnheim ; but far more 



£22 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT LL. 

Would my forbearance have avail'd my country, 
Had I succeeded to dissolve th alliance 
Existing 'twixt the Saxon and the Swede. 

QUESTENBEKG. 

But you did not succeed, and so commenced 

The fearful strife anew. And here at length,] 

Beside the river Oder did the Duke 

Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields 

Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms, 

Subdued without a blow. And here, with others, 

The righteousness of Heaven to his avenger 

Deliver'd that long-practised stirrer-up 

Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch 

And kindler of this war, Matthias Thurn 

But he had fallen into magnanimous hands ; 

Instead of punishment he found reward, 

And with rich presents did the Duke dismiss 

The arch-foe of his Emperor. 

WALLENSTEIN (laughs). 

I know, 
I know you had already in Vienna 
Your windows and your balconies forestall 'd 
To see hkn on the executioner's cart. 
I might have lost the battle, lost it too 
With, infamy, and still retain'd your graces — 
But, to have cheated them of a spectacle, 
Oh ! that the good folks of Vienna never, 
No, never can forgive me ! 

QUESTENBEKG. 

So Silesia 
Was freed, and all things loudly called the Duka 
Into Bavaria, now press'd hard on all sides. 
And he did put his troops in motion : slowly, 
Quite at his ease, and by the longest road 
He traverses Bohemia ; but ere ever 
He hath once seen the enemy, faces round, 
Breaks up the march, and takes to winter quarters. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The troops were pitiably destitute 
Of every necessary, every comfort, 



SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 228 

The winter came. What thinks his Majesty 
His troops are made of ? Ar'n't we men ? subjected 
Like other men to wet, and cold, and all 
The circumstances of necessity? 

miserable lot of the poor soldier ! 
Wherever he comes in, all flee before him, 
And when he goes away, the general curse 
Follows him on his route. All must be seized. 
Nothing is given him. And compell'd to seize 
From every man, he's every man's abhorrence. 
Behold, here stand my Generals. Karaffa 
Count Deodati ! Butler ! Tell this man 

How long the soldier's pay is in arrears. 

BUTLER. 

Already a full year. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And 'tis the hire 
That constitutes the hireling's name and duties, 
The soldier's pay is the soldier's covena™* *. 

QUESTENBERG. 

Ah ! this is a far other tone from that, 

In which the Duke spoke eight, nine years ago. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes ! 'tis my fault, I know it : I myself 
Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging him. 
Nine years ago, during the Danish war, 

1 raised him up a force, a mighty force, 
Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him 
Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony 
The fury goddess of the war march 'd on, 
E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing 
The terrors of his name. That was a time ! 

In the whole Imperial realm no name like mine 

* The original is not translatable into English : 

Und sein Sold 

Mnss dem Soldaten werden, darnach heisst er. 
It might perhaps have been thus rendered : 

And that for which he sold his services, 
The soldier must receive- 
but a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun. 



224 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT II 

Honour 'd with festival and celebration— 
And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title 
Of the third jewel in his crown ! 
But at the Diet, when the Princes met 
At Begensburg, there, there the whole broke out, 
There 'twas laid open, there it was made known, 
Out of what money-bag I had paid the host. 
And what were now my thanks, what had I now, 
That I, a faithful servant of the Sovereign, 
Had loaded on myself the people's curses, 
And let the Princes of the empire pay 
The expenses of this war, that aggrandizes 
The Emperor alone. What thanks had 1 ! 
What ? I was offer 'd up to their complaints 
Dismiss'd, degraded ! 

QUESTENBEKG. 

But your Highness knowe 
What little freedom he possess'd of action 
In that disastrous diet. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Death and hell ! 
/ had that which could have procured him freedom. 
No ! since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me 
To serve the Emperor at the empire s cost, 
I have been taught far other trains of thinking 
Of the empire, and the diet of the empire. 
From the Emperor, doubtless, I received this staff 
But now I hold it as the empire's general — 
For the common weal, the universal interest, 
And no more for that one man's aggrandizement ! 
But to the point. What is it that's desired of me ? 

QUESTENBEKG-. 

First, his Imperial Majesty hath will'd 
That without pretexts of delay the army 
Evacuate Bohemia. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

In this season ? 
And to what quarter wills the Emperor 
That we direct our course ? 



&3. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINl. 2~& 

QUESTENBERG-. 

To the enemy. 
His Majesty resolves, that Kegensburg 
Be purified from the enemy ere Easter, 
That Lutheranism may be no longer preach M 
In that cathedral, nor heretical 
Defilement desecrate the celebration 
Of that pure festival. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

My generals, 
Can thi3 be realized ? 

ILLO. 

'Tis not possible. 

BUTLEE. 

It can't be realized. 

QUESTENBERG 

The Emperor 
Already hath commanded colonel Suys 
To advance towards Bavaria. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What did Suys? 

QUESTENBERG. 

That which his duty prompted. He advanced 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What ! he advanced ? And I, his general, 
Had given him orders, peremptory orders, 
Not to desert his station ! Stands it thus 
With my authority ? Is this the obedience 
Due to my office, which being thrown aside, 
No war can be conducted ? Chieftains, speak . 
You be the judges, generals ! What deserves 
That officer who, of his oath neglectful, 
Is guilty of contempt of orders ? 

ILLO. 

Death. 
wallenstein (raising his voice, as all but illo had remained 
silent and seemingly scrupulous). 
Count Piccolomini ! what has he deserved ? 

a 



£26 THE PICCOLOMINI. f ACT II 

max. piccolomini (after a long pause). 
According to the letter of the law, 
Death. 

ISOLANI. 

Death. 

BUTLER. 

Death, by the laws of war. 
[Questenberg rises from his seat, Wallenste in /o doit's; 
all the rest rise. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

To this the law condemns him, and not I. 
And if I show him favour, 'twill arise 
From the reverence that I owe my Emperor. 

QUESTENBERG. 

If so, I can say nothing further — here ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

T accepted the command but on conditions : 

And this the first, that to the diminution 

Of my authority no human being, 

Not even the Emperor's self, should be entitled 

To do aught, or to say aught, with the army 

If I stand warranter of the event, 

Placing my honour and my head in pledge, 

Needs must I have full mastery in all 

The means thereto. What render 'd this Gustavus 

Resistless, and unconquer'd upon earth ? 

This — that he was the monarch in his army ! 

A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch, 

Was never yet subdued bat by his equal. 

But to the point ! Th e best is yet to come 

Attend now, generals \ 

q T JESTENBERG. 

The Prince Cardinal 
Begins his route at the approach of spring 
From the Milanese ; and leads a Spanish army 
Through Germany into the Netherlands. 
That he may march secure and unimpeded, 
'Tis the Emperor V mil you grant him a detachment 
Of eight horse-regiments from the army here. 



SO. V1I.1 THE PICCOLOMINI. 227 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes, yes ! T understand ! — Eight regiments ! Well, 
Eight well concerted, father Lamormain ! 
Eight thousand horse ! Yes, yes ! 'tis as it should be * 
I see it coming. 

QUESTENBEKGL 

There is nothing coming. 
411 stands in front : the counsel of state-prudence, 
The dictate of necessity ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What then? 
What, my Lord Envoy ? May I not be suffer 'd 
To understand, that folks are tired of seeing 
The sword's hilt in my grasp ; and that your court 
Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use 
The Spanish title, to drain off my forces, 
To lead into the empire a new army 
Unsubjected to my control ? To throw me 
Plumply aside, — I am still too powerful for you 
To venture that. My stipulation runs, 
That all the Imperial forces shall obey me 
Where'er the German is the native language. 
Of Spanish troops and of Prince Cardinals 
That take their route as visitors, through the empire, 
There stands no syllable in my stipulation. 
No syllable ! And so the politic court 
Steals in on tiptoe, and creeps round behind it ; 
First makes me weaker, then to be dispensed with, 
Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow 
And make short work with me. 
What need of all these crooked ways, Lord Envoy ? 
Straight-forward, man ! his compact with me pinches 
The Emperor. He would that I moved off ! — 
Well ! — I vvil± gratiiy mm ! 

[Here there commences an agitation among the General 
which increases continually. 
It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes ! 
I see not yet, by what means they will come at 
The moneys thay have advanced, or how obtain 
The recompense their services demand. 

Q 2 



228 THE PICCOLOMlflL \AJJE fz. 

Still a new leader brings new claimants forward, 

And prior merit superannuates quickly. 

There serve here many foreigners in the army, 

And were th.e man in all else brave and gallant* 

I was not wont to make nice scrutiny 

After his pedigree or catechism. 

This will be otherwise, i' the time to come. 

Well — me no longer it concerns. [He seats himself 

MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 

Forbid it, Heaven, that it should come to this ! 
Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation — 
The Emperor is abused — it cannot be. 

ISOLANI. 

It cannot be ; all goes to instant wreck. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani ! 
What we with toil and foresight have built up, 
Will go to wreck — all go to instant wreck. 
What then ? Another chieftain is soon found, 
Another army likewise (who dares doubt it ?) 
Will flock from all sides to the Emperor, 
At the first beat of his recruiting drum. 

[During this speech, Isolaki, Teezky, Illo, and Maea- 
das talk confusedly with great agitation, 

Kax. piccolomixi (busily and passionately going from one to 

another, and soothing them). 

Hear, my commander ! Hear me, generals ! 
Let me conjure you, Duke ! Determine nothing, 
Till we have met and represented to you 
Our joint remonstrances. — Nay, calmer! Friends! 
I hope all may yet be set right again. 

TEEZKY- 

Away ! let us away ! in the antecnaraber 

Find we the others. [They 

BUTLER- ifO QUESTENBEEG). 

If good counsel gain 
Due audience from your wisdom, my Lord Envoy * 
You will be cautious how you show yourself. 



:0 'vTLI.J THE PICCOLOMINI. £29 

In public for some hours to come — or hardly 
Will that gold key protect you from mal-treatment. 

[Commotions heard from ivithout 

WALLENSTEIN. 

A. salutary counsel Thou, Octavio ! 

Wilt answer for the safety of our guest. 
Farewell, Von Questenberg ! 

[Questenberg is about to speak. 
Nay, not a word. 
Not one word more of that detested subject ! 
You have perform'd your duty — We know how 
To separate the office from the man. 

[As Questenbeeg is going off with Octavio, Goetz, 
Tiefenbach, Kolatto, press in ; several other Generals 
following them, 

goetz. 
Where's he who means to rob us of our general ? 

tiefenbach (at the same time). 
What are we forced to hear ? That thou wilt leave us ? 

kolatto [at the same time). 
We will live with thee, we will die with thee. 

wallenstein (with stateliness, and pointing to illo). 
There ! the Field-Marshal knows our will. [Exit. 

[While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. 
A small Chamber. 
Illo and Teezkt. 

TEEZKY. 

Now for this evening's business ! How intend you 
To manage with the generals at the banquet ? 

ILLO. 

Attend ! We frame a formal declaration, 
Wherein we to the Duke consign ourselves 
Collectively, to be and to remain 
His both with life and limb, and not to spare 
The last drop of our blood for him, provided 



930 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT IH. 

So doing we infringe no oath or duty 

We may be under to the Emperor. — Mark ! 

This reservation we expressly make 

In a particular clause, and save the conscience. 

Now hear ! this formula so framed and worded 

Will he presented to them for perusal 

Before the banquet. No one will find in it 

Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further 1 

After the feast, when now the vap'ring wine 

Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let 

A counterfeited paper, in the which 

This one particular clause has been left out, 

Go round for signatures. 

TERZKY. 

How ! think you then 
That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath, 
Which we have trick'd them into by a juggle ? 

ILLO. 

We shall have caught and caged them ! Let them then 
Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave 
Loud as they may against our treachery ; 
At court their signatures will be believed 
Far more than their most holy affirmations. 
Traitors they are, and must be ; therefore wisely 
Will make a virtue of necessity. 

TERZKY. 

Well, well, it shall content me ; let but something 
Be done, let only some decisive blow 
Set us in motion. 

ILLO. 

Besides, 'tis of subordinate importance 
How, or how far, we may thereby propel 
The generals. 'Tis enough that we persuade 
* The Duke that they are his. — Let him but act 
In his determined mood, as if he had them, 
And he will have them. Where he plunges in, 
He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it, 

TERZKY. 

His policy is such a labyrinth, 

That many a time when I have thought myself 



SO. I.] THE PICCOJ.OM1NI. 231 

Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me 
Ignorant of the ground where I was standing. 
He lends the enemy his ear, permits me 
To write to them, to Arnheim ; to Sesina 
Himself comes forward blank and undisguised ; 
Talks with us by the hour about his plans. 
And when I think I have him — off at once — 
He has slipp'd from me, and appears as if 
He had no scheme, but to retain his place. 

ILLO. 

He give up his old plans ! I'll tell you, friend ! 
His soul is occupied with nothing else, 
Even in his sleep — They are his thoughts, his dreams, 
That day by day he questions for this purpose 
The motions of the planets 

TEEZKY. 

Ay ! you know 
This night, that is now coming, he with Seni 
Shuts himself up in the astrological tower 
To make joint observations — for I hear 
It is to be a night of weight and crisis ; 
And something great, and of long expectation, 
Takes place in heav'n. 

£illo. 
that it might take place 
On earth ! The generals are full of zeal, 
And would with ease be led to any thing, 
Kather than lose their chief. Observe, too, that 
We have at last a fair excuse before us, 
To form a close alliance 'gainst the court, 
Yet innocent its title, bearing simply 
That we support him only in command. 
But in the ardour of pursuit thou know'st 
Men soon forget the goal from which they started. 
The object I've in view is that the Prince 
Shall either find them, or believe them ready 
For every hazard. Opportunity 
Will tempt him on. Be the great step once taken, 
Which at Vienna's Court can ne'er be pardon'd, 
The force of circumstance will lead him onward 
The farther still and farther. Tis the choice 



£32 THE PICCOLOMINi. [ACT III. 

That makes him undecisive ; — come but need . 
And all his powers and wisdom will come with it. 

TERZKT. 

Tis this alone the enemy awaits 

To change their chief and join their force with ours. ] 

ILLO. 

Come ! be we bold and make despatch. The work 

In this next day or two must thrive and grow 

More than it has for years. And let but only 

Things first turn up auspicious here below — 

Mark what I say — the right stars, too, will show themselves. 

Come to the generals. All is in the glow, 

And must be beaten while 'tis malleable. 

TERZKY. 

Do you go thither, Illo. I must stay 
And wait here for the Countess Terzky. Know 
That we, too, are not idle. Break one string, 
A second is in readiness 

ILLO. 

Yes ! yes ! 
I saw your lady smile with such sly meaning. 
What's in the wind ? 

TERZKT. 

A secret. Hush ! she comes. 

[Exit Illo, 

Scene II. 

(The Countess steps out from a Closet.) 

Count and Countess Terzky. 

terzky. 

Well — is she coming ? I can keep him back 

No longer. 

COUNTESS. 

She will be here instantly, 
Y02 only send him. 

TERZKY. 

I am not quite certain* 
I must confess it, Countess, whether or not 
We are earning the Duke's thanks hereby. You know, 
No ray has broke out from him on this point. 
You have o'erruled me, and yourself know best 
How far you dare proceed. 



SC. II. THE PICC0L0MIN1 



233 



COUNTESS. 

I take it on me. 
[Talking to herself ivhile she is advancing 
Here's no need of full powers and commissions — 
My cloudy Duke. ! we understand each other — 
And without words. What, could I not unriddle, 
Wherefore the daughter should he sent for hither, 
Why first he, and no other, should be chosen 
To fetch her hither ? This sham of betrothing her 
To a bridegroom *, whom no one knows — No ! no !— 
This may blind others ! I see through thee, Brother ! 
But it beseems thee not, to draw a card 
At such a game. Not yet ! — It all remains 

Mutely delivered up to my finessing 

Well — thou shalt not have been deceived, Duke Friedland* 

In her who is thy sister. 

seevant. (enters). 

The Commanders ! [Exit. 

tekzkt (to the countess). 
Take care you heat his fancy and affections — 
Possess him with a reverie, and send him, 
Absent and dreaming to the banquet ; that 
He may not boggle at the signature. 

COUNTESS. 

Take you care of your guests ! — Go, send him hither. 

TERZKY. 

All rests upon his undersigning. 

countess (interrupting him). 

Go to your guests ! Go 

illo (comes back). 

Where art staying, Terzky ? 
The house is full, and all expecting you. 

TERZKY. 

Instantly ! instantly ! [To the Countess, 

And let him not 
Stay here too long. It might awake suspicion 
In the old man 

* In Germany, after honourable addresses have been paid and formally 
accepted, the lovers are called Bride and Bridegroom, even though the mas> 
*iap:e should not take place till years afterwards. 



284, THE PICC0L0MINI. [ACT m 

COUNTESS 

A truce with, your precautions ! 

[Exeunt Teezkt and Illo. 

Scene III. 

Countess, Max. Picgdlom:ni. 

max (joeeping in on the stage slily). 
Aunt Terzky ! may I venture ? 

[Advances to the middle of the stage, and looks around 
him with uneasiness. 

She's not here ! 
Where \s she ? 

COUNTESS. 

Look but somewhat narrowly 
In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie 
Conceal'd behind that screen. 

MAX. 

There lie her gloves ! 
[Snatches at them, hut the Countess takes them herself. 
You unkind Lady ! You refuse me this — 
You make it an amusement to torment me. 

countess. 
And this the thanks you give me for my trouble ? 

MAX. 

O, if you felt the oppression at my heart ! 
Since we've been here, so to constrain myself — 
With such poor stealth to hazard words and glances — 
These, these are not my habits ! 

countess. 

You have still 
Many new habits to acquire, young friend ! 
But on this proof of your obedient temper 
I must continue to insist ; and only 
On this condition can I play the agent 
For your concerns. 

MAX. 

But wherefore comes she not ? 
Where is she ? 



so hl] the piccolomini. 235 

COUNTESS 

Into my hands you must place it 
Whole and entire. Whom could you find, indeed, 
More zealously affected to your interest ? 
No soul on earth must know it — not your father 
He must not, above all. 

MAX. 

Alas ! what danger ? 
Here is no face on which I might concentre 
All the enraptured soul stirs up within me. 

Lady ! tell me, is all changed around me ? 
Or is it only I ? 

I find myself, 
As among strangers ! Not a trace is left 
Of all my former wishes, former joys. 
Where has it vanish'd to ? There was a time 
When even, methought, with such a world as this, 

1 was not discontented. Now how flat ! 

How stale ! No life, no bloom, no flavour in it! 

My comrades are intolerable to me. 

My father — Even to him I can say nothing. 

My arms, my military duties — ! 

They are such wearying toys ! 

COUNTESS. 

But, gentle friend ! 
I must entreat it of your condescension, 
You would be pleased to sink your eye, and favour 
With one short glance or two this poor stale world, 
Where even now much, and of much moment, 
Is on the eve of its completion. 

"MAX. 

Something, 
l can't but know is going forward round me. 
I see it gathering, crowding, driving on, 
In wild uncustomary movements. Well, 
In due time, doubtless, it will reach even me 
Where think you I have been, dear Lady? Nay 
No raillery. The turmoil of the camp, 
The spring-tide of acquaintance rolling in, 
The pointless jest, the empty conversation, 



£36 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT Til 

Oppress'd and stifled me. I gasp'd for air — 

I could not breathe — I was constraint to fly, 

To seek a silence out for my full heart ; 

And a pure spot wherein to feel my happiness. 

No smiling, Countess ! In the church was I. 

There is a cloister here " To the heaven's gate," * 

Thither I went, there found myself alone. 

Over the altar hung a holy mother : 

A wretched painting 'twas, yet 'twas the friend 

That I was seeking in this moment. Ah, 

How oft have I beheld that glorious form 

In splendour, 'mid ecstatic worshippers ; 

Yet, still it moved me not ! and now at once 

Was my devotion cloudless as my love. 

COUNTESS. 

Enjoy your fortune and felicity ! 

Forget the world around you. Meantime, friendship 

Shall keep strict vigils for you, anxious, active. 

Only be manageable when that friendship 

Points you the road to full accomplishment. 

£max. 
But where abides she then ? Oh golden time 
Of travel, when each morning sun united 
And but the coming night divided us ; 
Then ran no sand, then struck no hour for us, 
And Time, in our excess of happiness, 
Seemed on its course eternal to stand still. 
Oh, he hath fallen from out his heaven of bliss 
Who can descend to count the changing hours, 
No clock strikes ever for the happy !] 

COUNTESS. 

How long is it since you declared your passion ? 

MAX. 

This morning did I hazard the first word. 

COUNTESS. 

This morning the first time in twenty days ? 

* I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister, or the name 
of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have translated it in the 
former sense ; but fearful of having made some blunder I add the original. — 
Es ist ein Kloster hier zur Himmelsjpforte. 



SC III.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 287 

MAX. 

'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here 

And Nepomuck, where you had join 'd us, and — 

That was the last relay of the whole journey ; 

In a balcony we were standing mute, 

And gazing out upon the dreary field : 

Before us the dragoons were riding onward, 

The safe-guard which the Duke had sent us — heavy 

The inquietude of parting lay upon me, 

And trembling ventured I at length these words : 

This all reminds me, noble maiden, that 

To-day I must take leave of my good fortune. 

A few hours more, and you will find a father, 

Will see yourself surrounded by new friends, 

And I henceforth shall be but as a stranger, 

Lost in the many—" Speak with my aunt Terzky !" 

With hurrying voice she interrupted me. 

She falter'd. I beheld a glowing red 

Possess her beautiful cheeks, and from the ground 

Raised slowly up her eye met mine — no longer 

Did I control myself. 

[The Princess Thekla appears at the door, and re- 
mains standing, observed by the Countess, bat not by 
Piccolomini. 

With instant boldness 
I caught her in my arms, my lips touch'd hers ; 
There was a rustling in the room close by ; 
It parted us — 'Twas you. What since has happen'd, 
You know. 
countess (after a pause, with a stolen glance at thekl-a), 

And is it your excess of modesty ; 
Or are you so incurious, that you do not 
Ask me too of my secret ? 

MAX. 

Of your secret? 
countess. 
Why, yes ! When in the instant after you 
I stepp'd into the room, and found my niece there^ 
What she in this first moment of the heart 
Ta'en with surprise — 

max. (with eagernessj, 
Well? 



288 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III. 

Scene IV. 
Tbbela. (hurries forward), Countess, Max. Piccolomini. 

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS). 

Spare yourself the trouble : 
That hears he better from myself. 

max. (stepping backward). 

My Princess ! 
What have you let her hear me say, aunt Terzky ? 

THEKLA (tO the COUNTESS). 

Has he been here long ? 

COUNTESS. 

Yes ; and soon must go. 
Where have you stay'd so long ? 

THEKLA. 

Alas ! my mother 
Wept so again ! and I— I see her suffer, 
Yet cannot keep myself from being happy. 

MAX. 

Now once again I have courage to look on you. 
To-day at noon I could not. 
The dazzle of the jewels that play'd round you 
Hid the beloved from me. 

THEKLA. 

Then you saw me 
With your eye only — and not with your heart? 

MAX. 

This morning, when I found you in the circle 

Of all your kindred, in your father's arms, 

Beheld myself an alien in this circle, 

! what an impulse felt I in that moment 

To fall upon his neck, to call him father ! 

But his stern eye o'erpower'd the swelling passion, 

It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants. 

That like a crown of stars en wreathed your brows, 

They scared me too ! wherefore, wherefore should he 

At the first meeting spread as 'twere the ban 

Of excommunication round you, — wherefore 

Dress up the angel as for sacrifice. 



SO- IV i THE PICCOLOMINI. 239 

And cast upon the light and joyous heart 
The mournful burthen of his station? Fitly 
May love dare woo for love ; but such a splendour 
Might none but monarchs venture to approach. 

THEKLA 

Hush ! not a word more of this mummery ; 
You see how soon the burthen is thrown off. 

[To the Countess. 
He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not? 
Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy ! 
He had quite another nature on the journey — 
So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent. [To Max. 

It was my wish to see you always so, 
And never otherwise ! 

MAX. 

You find yourself 
In your great father's arms, beloved lady ! 
All in a new world, which does homage to you, 
And which, were't only by its novelty 
Delights your eye. 

TH E KLA.. 

Yes ; I confess to you 
That many things delight me here : this camp, 
This motley stage of warriors, which renews 
So manifold the image of my fancy, 
And binds to life, binds to reality, 
What hitherto had but been present to me 
As a sweet dream ! 

MAX. 

Alas ! not so to me. 
It makes a dream of my reality. 
Upon some island in the ethereal heights 
I've lived for these last days. This mass of incu 
Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge 
That, reconducting to my former life, 
Divides me and my heaven. 

THEKLA. 

The game of life 
Looks cheerful, when one carries in one's heart 



240 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III 

The unalienable treasure. 'Tis a game, 
Which having once review'd, I turn more joyous 
Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss. 

[Breaking off, and in a sportive tone. 
In this short time that I've been present here. 
What new unheard-of things have I not seen i 
And yet they all must give place to the wonder 
Which this mysterious castle guards. 

countess (recollecting). 

And what 
Can this be then ? Methought I was acquainted 
With all the dusky corners of this house. 

thekla (smiling). 
Ay, but the road thereto is watch'd by spirits, 
Two griffins still stand sentry at the door. 

countess (laughs). 
The astrological tower ! — How happens it 
That this same sanctuary, whose access 
Is to all others so impracticable, 
Opens before you even at your approach ? 

THEKLA. 

A dwarfish old man with a friendly face 

And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services 

Were mine at first sight, open'd me the doors. 

MAX. 

That is the Duke's astrologer, old Seni. 

THEKLA. 

fie question 'd me on many points ; for instance, 
When I was born, what month, and on what day, 
Whether by day or in the night. 

COUNTESS. 

He wish'd 
To erect a figure for your horoscope. 

THEKLA. 

My hand too he examined, shook his head 

With much sad meaning, and the lines, methought. 

Did not square over truly with his wishes. 



SC. V.J ^E PICCOLOMIKI £41 

COUNTESS. 

Well, Princess, and what found you in this tower 7 
My highest privilege has been to snatch 
A. side-glance, and away ! 

THEKLA. 

It was a strange 
Sensation that came o'er me, when at first 
From the broad sunshine I stepp'd in ; and now 
The narrowing line of daylight, that ran after 
The closing door, was gone ; and all about me 
'Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows 
Fantastically cast. Here six or seven 
Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me 
In a half-circle. Each one in his hand 
A sceptre bore, and on his head a star ; 
And in the tower no other light was there 
But from these stars : all seern'd to come from them 
" These are the planets," said that low old man, 
" They govern worldly fates, and for that cause 
Are imaged here as kings. He farthest from you, 
Spiteful, and cold, an old man melancholy, 
With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn. 
He opposite, the king with the red light, 
An arm'd man for the battle, that is Mars ; 
And both these bring but little luck to man." 
But at his side a lovely lady stood, 
The star upon her head was soft and bright, 
On that was Venus, the bright star of joy. 
And the left hand, lo ! Mercury, with wings 
Quite in the middle glitter 'd silver bright 
A cheerful man, and with a monarch's mien ; 
And this was Jupiter, my father's star : 
And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon, 

MAX. 

never rudely will I blame his faith 

In the might of stars and angels. 'Tis not merely 

The human being's Pride that peoples space 

With life and mystical predominance ; 

Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love 

This visible nature, and this common world, 

u 



242 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT HI 

Is all too narrow ; yea, a deeper import 

Lurks in the legend told my infant years 

Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. 

For fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place ; 

Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, 

And spirits ; and delightedly believes 

Divinities, being himself divine • 

The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 

The fair humanities of old religion, 

The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 

That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, 

Or chasms, and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanished. 

They live no longer in the faith of reason ! 

But still the heart doth need a language, still 

Doth the old instinct bring back the old names, 

And to yon starry world they now are gone, 

Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth 

With man as with their friend * ; and to the lover 

lender they move, from yonder visible sky 

Shoot influence down : and even at this day 

'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, 

And Venus who brings everything that s fair ! 

THEKLA 

And if this be the science of the stars, 

I too, with glad and zealous industry, 

Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith. 

It is a gentle and affectionate thought, 

That in immeasurable heights above us, 

At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven, 

With sparkling stars for flowers. 

COUNTESS 

Not only roses 
But thorns too hath the heaven, and well for you 
Leave they your wreath of love inviolate : 
What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune, 
, The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces. 

* No more of talk, where god or angel guest 
"With man, as with his friend familiar, used 
To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B, IX. 



SC V.J THE PICCOLOMINI. 243 

MAX. 

Soon will his gloomy empire reach its close. 

Blest be the General's zeal : into the laurel 

Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting 

Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish 

Will have remain'd for his great heart ! Enough 

Has he perform 'd for glory, and can now 

Live for himself and his. To his domains 

Will he retire ; he has a stately seat 

Of fairest view at Gitschin ; Reichenberg, 

And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly — 

Even to the foot of the huge mountains here 

Stretches the chase and covers of his forests : 

His ruling passion, to create the splendid, 

He can indulge without restraint ; can give 

A princely patronage to every art, 

And to all worth a Sovereign's protection. 

Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses 

COUNTESS. 

Yet I would have you look, and look again, 
Before you lay aside your arms, young friend ! 
A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it, 
That you should woo and win her with the sword. 

MAX. 

0, that the sword could win her ! 

COUNTESS. 

What was that ? 
Did you hear nothing? Seem'd as if I heard 
Tumult and iarum in the banquet-room. 

[Exit Countess 

Scene V. 
Thekla and Max. Piccolomini. 
IHEKLA (as soon as the Countess is out of sight, in a quick lou 
voice to piccolomini. 
Don't trust them ! They are false ! 

MAX. 

Impossible ! 

THEKLA. 

Trust no one here but me. I saw at once. 
They had a purpose. 

k 2 



244 THE PICCOLOMINI, [ACT 1TL 

MAX. 

Purpose ! but what purpose ? 
And how can we be instrumental to it ? 

THEKLA. 

I know no more than you ; but yet believe me : 
There's some design in this ! to make us happy. 
To realize our union — trust me, love ! 
They but pretend to wish it. 

MAX. 

But these Terzkys- — 
Why use we them at all ? Why not your mother ? 
Excellent creature ! she deserves from us 
A full and filial confidence. 

THEKLA. 

She doth love you, 
Doth rate you high before all others — but — 
But such a secret — she would never have 
The courage to conceal it from my father. 
For her own peace of mind we must preserve it 
A secret from her too. 

MAX. 

Why any secret ? 
I love not secrets. Mark what I will do. 
I'll throw me at your father's feet — let him 
Decide upon my fortunes ! He is true, 
He wears no mask — he hates all crooked ways- 
He is so good, so noble ! 

thekla {falls on his neck). 
That are you ! 

MAX. 

You knew him only since this morn ! but I 
Have lived ten years already in his presence, 
And who knows whether in this very moment 
He is not merely waiting for us both 
To own our loves, in order to unite us ? 
You are silent ! — 

You look at me with such a hopelessness ! 
What have you to object against your father? 

THEKLA. 

I? Nothing. Only he's so occupied — 
He has no leisure time to think about 



SC. VI.j TEE PICC0L0MINI. 245 

The happiness of us two. [Taking his hand tenderly 

Follow me ! 
Let us not place too great a faith in men. 
These Terzkys — we will still be grateful to them 
For every kindness, but not trust them further 
Than they deserve; — and in all else rely — 
On our own hearts ! 

MAX. 

! shall we e'er be happy ? 

THEKLA. 

Are we not happy now ? Art thou not mine ? 

Am I not thine ? There lives within my soul 

A lofty courage — 'tis love gives it me ! 

I ought to be less open— ought to hide 

My heart more from thee — so decorum dictates : 

But where in this place couldst thou seek for truth, 

If in my mouth thou didst not find it ? 

[We now have met, then let us hold each other 

Clasp 'd in a lasting and a firm embrace. 

Believe me this was more than their intent. 

Then be our loves like some blest relic kept 

Within the deep recesses of the heart. 

From Heav'n alone the love has been bestow'd, 

To Heav'n alone our gratitude is due 

It can work wonders for us still.] 

Scene VI. 

To them enters the Countess Teezky. 

countess (in a pressing manner). 

Come, come ! 
My husband sends me for you. — It is now 
The latest moment. 

[They not appearing to attend to what she says> she steps 
between them. 

Part you ! 

THEKLA. 

O, not yet I 

It has been scarce a moment. 



'246 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III 

COUNTESS. 

Ay! Then time 
Flies swiftly with your Highness, Princess niece ! 

MAX 

There is no hurry, aunt. 

COUNTESS. 

Away ! away ! 
The folks begin to miss you. Twice already 
His father has ask'd for him. 

THEKLA. 

Ha ! his father ! 

COUNTESS. 

You understand that, niece ! 

THEKLA. 

Why needs he 
To go at all to that society? 
'Tis not his proper company. They may 
Be worthy men, but he's too young for them. 
In brief, he suits not such society. 

COUNTESS. 

You mean, you'd rather keep him wholly here ? 

thekla (with energy). 
Yes ! you have hit it, aunt ! That is my meaning. 
Leave him here wholly ! Tell the company 

COUNTESS. 

What ! have you lost your senses, niece? 
Count, you remember the conditions. Come ! 

max. (to thekla). 
Lady, I must obey. Farewell, dear lady! 

[Thekla turns away from him with a quick m< 
What say you then, dear lady ? 

thekla (without looking at him). 

Nothing. Go I 

MAX. 

Can I, when you are angry 

[He draws up to her, their eyes meet, she stands silent 
a moment, then throws herself into his arms ; lie 
presses her fast to his heart 



SC. V1I.J THE PIOCOLOMINI. 247 

COUNTESS 

Off ! Heavens ! if any one should come ! 

Hark ! What's that noise ! It conies this way. — Off ! 

[Max. tears himself away out of her arms, and goes. 
The Countess accompanies him. Thekla follows 
him with her eyes at first, walks restlessly across 
the room, then stops, and remains standing, lost in 
thought. A guitar lies on the table, she seizes it 
as by a sudden emotion, and after she has played 
awhile an irregular and melancholy symphony, 
she falls gradually into the music and sings. 

Scene VII. 
thekla [plays and sings). 
The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar, 
The damsel paces along the shore ; 
The billows, they tumble with might, with might ; 
And she flings out her voice to the darksome night ; 

Her bosom is swelling with sorrow ; 
The world it is empty, the heart will die, 
There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky: 
Thou Holy One, call thy child away! 
I've lived and loved, and that was to-day; 

Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow* 

* I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal fidelity, 
preserving at the same time the Alcaic movement, and have therefore added 
the original, with a prose translation. Some of my readers may be more for- 
tunate. 

thekla (spielt und singt). 
Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn, 
Das Magdlein wandelt an Ufers Grrun; 
Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht, 
Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht, 

Das Auge von Weinen getrlibet : 
Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer, 
Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr. 
Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zuriick, ' 
Ich habe genossen das irdische Gfluck, 
Ich habe gelebt und geliebet. 

LITERAL TRANSLATION. 

thekla {plays and sings). 
Tl e oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel walks to and fro on 
the green of the shore; the wave breaks with might, with might, and she 



248 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III. 

Scene VIII. 

Countess (returns), Thekla. 

countess. 
Fie, lady niece ! to throw yourself upon him, 
Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it, 
x\nd so must he flung after him ! For you, 
Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought, 
It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself 
More chary of your person. 

thekla {rising). 

And what mean you ? 

COUNTESS. 

I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten 
Who you are, and who he is. But perchance 
That never once occurr'd to you. 

THEKLA. 

What then? 

COUNTESS. 

That you re daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland. 

THEKLA. 

Well, and what farther ? 

COUNTESS. 

What ? a pretty question ! 

sings out into the dark night, her eye discoloured with weeping : the heart 
is dead, the world is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. 
Thou Holy One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this 
world, I have lived and have loved. 

I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which my friend, 
Charles Lamb, has favoured me, and which appears to me to have caught 
the happiest manner of our old ballads. 

The clouds are blackening, the storms threat'ning, 

The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan! 
Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, 

Thus in the dark night she singeth alone, 
Her eye upward roving : 
The world is empty, the heart is dead sorely, 

In this world plainly all seemeth amiss; 
To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one^ 

I have partaken of all earth's bliss, 
Both living and loving. 



60. YU1.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 249 

THEKLA. 

He was born that which we have but become. 
He's of an ancient Lombard family, 
Son of a reigning princess. 

COUNTESS 

Are you dreaming ? 
Talking in sleep ? An excellent jest, forsooth ! 
We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him 
To honour with his hand the richest heiress 
In Europe. 

THEKLA. 

That will not be necessary. 

COUNTESS. 

Methinks 'twere well, though, not to ran the hazard 

THEKLA. 

His father loves him ; Count Octavio 
Will interpose no difficulty 

COUNTESS. 

His! 

His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours? 

THEKLA. 

Why I begin to think you fear his father. 
So anxiously you hide it from the man ! 
His father, his, I mean. 

countess (looks at her as scrutinising). 
Niece, you sue false. 

THEKLA. 

Are you then wounded ? 0, be friends with me ! 

COUNTESS. 

You hold your game for won already. Do not 
Triumph too soon ! 

thekla (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe Iter). 
Nay now, be friends with ine, 

COUNTESS. 

It is not yet so far gone. 

THEKLA. 

I believe you. 

COUNTESS. 

Did you suppose your father had laid out 
His most important life in toils of war, 



250 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT JJI 

Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, 

Had banish 'd slumber from his tent, devoted 

His noble head to care, and for this only, 

To make a happier pair of you ? At length 

To draw you from your convent, and conduct 

In easy triumph to your arms the man 

That chanced to please your eyes ! All this, mcthiLks 9 

He might have purchased at a cheaper rate. 

THEKLA. 

That which he did not plant for me might yet 
Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. 
And if my friendly and affectionate fate, 
Out of his fearful and enormous being, 
Will but prepare the joys of life for me — 

COUNTESS. 

Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes. 

Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art. 

Into no house of joyance hast thou stepp'd, 

For no espousals dost thou find the walls 

Deck'd out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing. 

Here is no splendour but of arms. Or think st thou 

That all these thousands are here congregated 

To lead up the long dances at thy wedding ! 

Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought, 

Thy mother's eye in tears : upon the balance 

Lies the great destiny of all our house. 

Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling, 

O thrust it far behind thee ! Give thou proof, 

Thou'rt the daughter of the Mighty — his 

Who where he moves creates the wonderful. 

Not to herself the woman must belong, 

Annex'd and bound to alien destinies. 

But she performs the best part, she the wisest, 

Who can transmute the alien into self, 

Meet and disarm necessity by choice ; 

And what must be, take freely to her heart, 

And bear and foster it with mother's love. 

THEEXA. 

Such ever was my lesson in the convent. 
T. had no loves, no wishes, knew myself 



SC. /III.] THE PICCOLOMINI, 251 

Only as his — his daughter — his, the Mighty ! 
His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me 
From the far distance, waken 'd in my soul 
No other thought than this — I am appointed 
To offer myself up in passiveness to him. 

COUNTESS. 

That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it. 
I and thy mother gave thee the example. 

THEKLA. 

My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves it 
That I should offer up myself. In gladness 
Him will I follow. 

COUNTESS. 

Not thy fate hath shown him ! 
Thy heart, say rather — 'twas thy heart, my child ! 

THEKLA. 

Fate hath no voice but the heart's impulses. 
I am all his ! His present — his alone, 
Is this new life, which lives in me ? He hath 
A right to his own creature. What was I 
Ere his fair love infused a soul into me? 

COUNTESS. 

Thou wouldst oppose thy father then, should he 
Have otherwise determined with thy person ? 

[Thekla remains silent. The Countess continues 
Thou mean'st to force him to thy liking ? — Child, 
His name is Friedland. 

THEKLA. 

My name too is Friedland. 
He shall have found a genuine daughter in me. 

COUNTESS. 

What ! he has vanquish'd all impediment, 
And in the wilful mood of his own daughter 
Shall a new struggle rise for him ? Child! child ! 
As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone ; 
The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child, 
I will not frighten thee. To that extreme, 
I trust, it ne'er shall come. His will is yet 
Unknown to me : 'tis possible his aims 
May have the same direction as thy wish. 



£52 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT III. 

But this can never, never be his will, 
That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes, 
Should'st e'er demean thee as a love-sick maiden ; 
And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself 
Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever 
Be destined to await him, yet, with sacrifices 
The highest love can bring, must pay for it. 

[Exit Countess. 

Scene IX. 
thekla (who during the last speech had been standing evi 

dently lost in her reflections), 
I thank thee for the hint. It turns 
My sad presentiment to certainty. 
And it is so ! — Not one friend have we here, 
Not one true heart ! we've nothing but ourselves ! 

she said rightly — no auspicious signs 
Beam on this covenant of our affections. 
This is no theatre, where hope abides : 
The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here ; 
And Love himself, as he were arm'd in steel, 
Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death. 

[Music from the banquet-room is heard. 
There's a dark spirit walking in our house, 
And swiftly will the Destiny close on us. 
It drove me hither from my calm asylum, 
It mocks my soul with charming witchery, 
It lures me forward in a seraph's shape, 

1 see it near, I see it nearer floating, 

It draws, it pulls me with a god-like power — 
And lo ! the abyss — and thither am I moving — 
I have no power within me not to move ! 

[The music from the banquet-room becomes louder 
O when a house is doom'd in fire to perish, 
Many and dark Heaven drives his clouds together, 
Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights, 
Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms, 

* And fiends and angels, mingling in their fury, 

Sling fire-brands at the burning edifice. [Exit Thekla. 

• There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two con- 



ACT TV., SC. I.J THE PICCOLOMINI 253 

ACT IV, 

Scene I. 

A large Saloon lighted up with festal Splendour ; in the midst 
of it, and in the centre of the Stage, a Table richly set out, 
at which eight Generals are sitting, among whom are Octayio 
Piccolomini, Teezky, and Makadas. Bight and left of 
this, but farther back, two other Tables, at each of which six 
persons are placed. The Middle Door, which is standing 
open, gives to the prospect a fourth Table ivith the same num- 
ber of persons. More forward stands the sideboard. The 
whole front of the Stage is kept open for the Pages and 
Servants in waiting. All is in motion. The Band of Music 
belonging to Terzky's Begiment march across the Stage, 
and draw up round the Tables. Before they are quite off 
from the front of the Stage, Max. Piccolomini appears, 
Teezky advances towards him with a paper, Isolani comes 
up to meet him with a Beaker or Service-cup. 

Teezky, Isolani, Max. Piccolomini. 

isolani. 

Here, brother, what we love ! Why, where hast been ? 

• Off to thy place — quick ! Terzky here has given 
The mother's holiday wine up to free booty. 
Here it goes on as at the Heidelberg castle. 
Already hast thou lost the best. They're giving 
At yonder table ducal crowns in shares ; 
There's Sternberg's lands and chattels are put up, 
With Eggenberg's, Stawata's, Lichtenstein's, 
And all the great Bohemian feodalities. 
Be nimble, lad ! and something may turn up 
For thee — who knows ? off — to thy place ! quick ! march ! 
tiefenbach and goetz {call out from the second and third 
tables). 
Count Piccolomini ! 
terzky. 
Stop, ye shall have him in an instant. — Eead 

eluding lines of this soliloquy; and still fewer, I would fain hope, who would 
not have been more disposed to shudder, had I given a faithful translation* 
For the readers of Gferman I have added the original : 

Blind-wuthend schleudert selbst der Grott der Freude 

Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gfebaude. 



'454 THE PICCOLOMINI (ACT IV 

This oath here, whether as 'tis here set forth, 
The wording satisfies you. They've all read it, 
Each in his turn, and each one will subscribe 
His individual signature. 

max. (reads). 
"Ingratis servire nefas." 

ISOLANI. 

That sounds to my ears very much like Latin, 
And being interpreted, pray what may't mean ? 

TERZKY. 

No honest man will serve a thankless master. 

MAX. 

" Inasmuch as our supreme Commander, the illustrious 
Duke of Friedland, in consequence of the manifold affronts 
and grievances which he has received, had expressed his 
determination to quit the Emperor, but on oar unanimous 
entreaty has graciously consented to remain still with the 
army, and not to part from us without our approbation 
thereof, so we, collectively and each in particular, in the 
stead of an oath personally taken, do hereby oblige our- 
selves — likewise by him honourably and faithfully to hold, 
and in nowise whatsoever from him to part, and to be ready 
to shed for his interests the last drop of our blood, so far, 
namely, as our oath to the Emperor will permit it. (These 
last words are repeated by Isolani.) In testimony of which 
we subscribe our names." 

IERZKY. 

Now ! — are you willing to subscribe this paper ? 

ISOLANI. 

Why should he not ? All officers of honour 
Can do it, ay, must do it. — Pen and ink here ! 

TEEZKY. 

Nay, let it rest till after meal. 

isolani 'drawing Max. along). 

Come, Max. 
\Both seat themselves at their tubl . 



60. II.) THE PI0COLOMTNI 255 

Scene II. 

Terzky, Neumann. 
terzky (beckons to Neumann, who is waiting at the side-tabl& 
and steps forward with him to the edge of the stage). 
Have you the copy with you, Neumann ? Give it. 
It may be changed for the other ? 

NEUMANN. 

I have copied it 
Letter by letter, line by line ; no eye 
Would e'er discover other difference, 
Save only the omission of that clause, 
According to your Excellency's order. 

TERZKY. 

Eight! lay it yonder, and away with this — 
It has performed its business — to the fire with it — 
[Neumann lays the copy on the table, and steps back 
again to the side-table. 

Scene III. 
Illo (comes out from the second Chamber), Terzky. 
illo. 
How goes it with young Piccolomini ! 

TERZKY. 

All right, I think He has started no objection. 

ILLO. 

He is the only one I fear about — 

He and his father. Have an eye on both ! 

TERZKY. 

How looks it at your table : you forget not 
To keep them warm and stirring ? 

11X0 

0, quite cordial, 
They are quite cordial in the scheme. We have them 
And 'tis as I predicted too. Already 
T t is the talk, not merely to maintain 
The Duke in station. " Since we're once for all 
Together and unanimous, why not," 
Says Montecuculi, "ay, why not onward, 
Ajid make conditions with the Emperor 



256 THE PICCOLOMTNI. [kGT IV. 

There in his own Vienna?" Trust me, Count, 
Were it not for these said Piccolomini, 
We might have spared ourselves the cheat. 

TEEZKY. 

And Butler? 
How goes it there ? Hush ! 

Scene IV. 
To them enter Butler from the second table. 

BUTLER, 

Don't disturb yourselves. 
Field-Marshal, I have understood you perfectly. 
Good luck be to the scheme ; and as to me, 

[With an air of mystery 
You may depend upon me. 

illo (with vivacity). 

May we, Butler? 

BUTLER. 

With or without the clause, all one to me ! 

You understand me ? My fidelity 

The Duke may put to any proof — I'm with him i 

Tell him so ! I'm the Emperor's officer, 

As long as 'tis his pleasure to remain 

The Emperor's general ! and Friedland's servant, 

As soon as it shall please him to become 

His own lord. 

TERZKY. 

You would make a good exchange 
No stern economist, no Ferdinand, 
Is he to whom you plight your services. 

butler (ivith a haughty look). 
I do not put up my fidelity 
To sale, Count Terzky ! Half a year ago 
I would not have advised you to have made me 
An overture to that, to which I now 
Offer myself of my own free accord. — 
But that is past ! and to the Duke, Field Marshal, 
I bring myself together with my regiment. 
And mark you, 'tis my humour to believe, 
The example which I give will not remain 
Without an influence 



SO. II. 1 THE PICCOLOMINI. &5 

ILLO. 

Who is ignorant. 
That the whole army look to Colonel Butler, 
As to a light that moves before them ? 

BUTLER. 

Ey? 
Then I repent me not of that fidelity 
Which for the length of forty years I held, 
If in my sixtieth year my good old name 
Can purchase for me a revenge so full. 
Start not at what I say, sir Generals ! 
My real motives — they concern not you. 
And you yourselves, I trust, could not expect 
That this your game had crook'd my judgment — or 
That fickleness, quick blood, or such like cause, 
Has driven the old man from the track of honour, 
Which he so long had trodden. Come, my friends t 
I'm not thereto determined with less firmness, 
Because I know and have looked steadily 
At that on which I have determined. 

ILLO. 

Say, 
And speak roundly, what are we to deem you? 

BUTLER. 

A friend ! I give you here my hand ! I'm yours 

With all I have. Not only men, but money 

Will the Duke want. — Go, tell him, sirs ! 

I've earn'd and laid up somewhat in his service, 

I lend it him ; and is he my survivor, 

It has been already long ago bequeathed him- 

He is my heir. For me, I stand alone 

Here in the world ; nought know I of the feeling 

That binds the husband to a wife and children. 

My name dies with me, my existence ends. 

ILLO. 

Tis not your money that he needs — a heart 

Like yours weighs tons of gold down, weighs down millions! 

BUTLER. 

I came a simple soldier's boy from Ireland 

To Prague—and with a master, whom I buried. 

s 



258 THE PICCOLOMINI. jACT IV. 

From lowest stable duty I climb'd up, 
Such was the fate of war, to this high rank, 
The plaything of a whimsical good fortune. 
And Wallenstein too is a child of luck ; 
I love a fortune that is like my own. 

ILLO. 

All powerful souls have kindred with each other. 

BUTLEK. 

This is an awful moment ! to the brave, 
To the determined, an auspicious moment. 
The Prince of Weimar arms, upon the Maine, 
To found a mighty dukedom. He of Halberstadt, 
That Mansfeldt, wanted but a longer life 
To have mark'd out with his good sword a lordship 
That should reward his courage. Who of these 
Equals our Friedland ? There is nothing, nothing 
So high, but he may set the ladder to it ! 

TEEZKY. 

That's spoken like a man ! 

BUTLEE. 

Do you secure the Spaniard and Italian — 
I'll be your warrant for the Scotchman Lesly. 
Come, to the company ! 

TEEZKY. 

Where is the master of the cellar ? Ho ! 

Let the best wines come up. Ho ! cheerly, boy ! 

Luck comes to-day, so give her hearty welcome. 

[Exeunt, each to his table. 

Scene V. 

The Mastee of the Cellae, advancing with Neumann. 

Servants passing backwards and forwards. 

mastee of the cellar. 

The best wine ! 0, if my old mistress, his lady mother, 

could but see these wild goings on, she would turn herself 

round in her grave. Yes, yes, sir officer ! 'tis all down the 

hill with this noble house ! no end, no moderation ! And 

this marriage with the Duke's sister, a splendid connexion, a 

very splendid connexion ! but I will tell you, sir officer, it 

looks no good. 



gd. V.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 25fc 

NEUMANN. 

Heaven forbid! Why, at this very moment the whole 
prospect is in bud and blossom ! 

MASTEE OF THE CELLAK. 

You think so ? — Well, well ! much may be said on that head, 

FIEST SEKVANT (comes). 

Burgundy for the fourth table. 

MASTEE OF THE CELLAR. 

Now, sir lieutenant, if this an't the seventieth flask — 

FIEST SEEVANT. 

Why, the reason is, that German lord, Tiefenbach, sits at 
that table. 

mastee of the cellae [continuing his discourse to 

NEUMANN). 

They are soaring too high. They would rival kings and 
electors in their pomp and splendour ; and wherever the Duke 
leaps, not a minute does my gracious master, the Count, loiter 
on the brink — (to the Servants). — What do you stand there 
listening for ? I will let you know you have legs presently 
Off ! see to the tables, see to the flasks ! Look there ! Count 
Tain has an empty glass before him ! 
eunnee (comes). 

The great service-cup is wanted, sir ; that rich gold cup 
with the Bohemian arms on it. The Count says you know 
which it is 

MASTEE OF THE CELLAE. 

Ay ! that was made for Frederick's coronation by the art- 
ist William— there was not such another prize in the whole 
booty at Prague. 

EUNNEE. 

The same ! — a health is to go round in him. 
mastee of the cellae (shaking his head while he fetches 

and rinses the cups). 
This will be something for the tale-bearers — this goes to 
Vienna. 

NEUMANN. 

Permit me to look at it. — Well, this is a cup indeed ! How 
heavy! as well it maybe, being all gold. —And what neat 
things are embossed on it ! how natural and elegant they 
look ! — There, on the first quarter, let me see. That proud 

s 2 



260 THE PJCCOLOMINI. L ACT IV 

Amazon there on horseback, she that is taking a leap over the 
crosier and mitres, and carries on a wand a hat together with 
a banner, on which there's a goblet represented. Can you 
tell me what all this signifies ? 

MASTEB OF THE CELLAR. 

The woman you see there on horseback, is the Free Elec 
tion of the Bohemian Crown. That is signified by the round 
hat, and by that fiery steed on which she is riding. The hat 
is the pride of man ; for he who cannot keep his hat on before 
kings and emperors is no free man. 

NEUMANN. 

But what is the cup there on the banner ? 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 

The cup signifies the freedom of the Bohemian Church, 
as it was in our forefathers' times. Our forefathers in th6 
wars of the Hussites forced from the Pope this noble privi- 
lege ; for the Pope, you know, will not grant the cup to any 
layman. Your true Moravian values nothing beyond the cup; 
it is his costly jewel, and has cost the Bohemians their pre- 
cious blood in many and many a battle. 

NEUMANN. 

And what says that chart that hangs in the air there, over 
it all ? 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 

That signifies the Bohemian letter-royal, which we forced 
from the Emperor Rudolph — a precious, never to be enough 
valued parchment, that secures to the new church the old pri- 
vileges of free ringing and open psalmody. But since he of 
Steiermark has ruled over us, that is at an end ; and after the 
battle at Prague, in which Count Palatine Frederick lost crown 
and empire, our faith hangs upon the pulpit and the altar — 
and our brethren look at their Jiomes over their shoulders ; 
but the letter-royal the Emperor himself cut to pieces with 
his scissors. 

NEUMANN. ' 

Why, my good Master of the Cellar ! you are deep read in 
the chronicles of your country ? 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 

So were my forefathers, and for that reason were they min- 
strels, and served under Proocpius and Ziska. Pea^&L© with 



6C. V.] THE PICCOLOMTNI. 261 

their ashes ! Well, well ! they fought for a good cause th< ugh 
— There ! carry it up ! 

NEUMANN. 

Stay ! let me but look at this second quarter. Look there\ 
That is, when at Prague Castle the Imperial counsellors, Mar- 
tinitz, and Stawata, were hurled down head over heels. 'Tis 
even so ! there stands Count Thur who commands it. 

[Eunner takes the service- cup and goes off with it. 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 

let me never more hear of that day. It was the three- 
and-twentieth of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand 
six hundred and eighteen. It seems to me as it were but 
yesterday — from that unlucky day it all began, all the heart- 
aches of the country Since that day it is now sixteen years, 
and there has never once been peace on the earth 

[Health drank aloud at the second table. 

The Prince of Weimar! Hurra! 

[At the third and fourth table. 

Long live Prince William ! Long live Duke Bernard ! 
Hurra ! [Music strikes up 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Hear 'em ! Hear 'em ! What an uproar ! 

second servant (comes in running). 
Did you hear ? They have drunk the Prince of Weimar's 
health. 

third servant. 
The Swedish Chief Commander ! 

first servant {speaking at the same time). 
The Lutheran ! 

second servant. 
Just before, when Count Deodati gave out the Emperor's 
health, they were all as mum as a nibbling mouse. 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 

Po, po ! When the wine goes in strange things come out. 
A good servant hears, and hears not! — You should be nothing 
but eyes and feet, except when you are called to. 

SECOND SERVANT. 

[To the Runner, to whom he gives secretly a flask Oj 
wine, keeping his eye on the Master of the Cellar, 
standing between him and the Eunner. 
Quick, Thomas ! before the Master of the Cellar runs this 



2G2 THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT IV 

way — 'tis a flask of Frontignac ! — Snapped it up at the third 
table— Canst go off with it ? 

runner [hides it in his pocket). 
All right ! [Exit the Second Servant. 

thied servant [aside to the First). 
Be on the hark, Jack ! that we may have right plenty to 
tell to Father Quivoga. — He will give us right plenty of abso- 
lution in return for it. 

first servant. 
For that very purpose I am always having something to do 
behind Illos chair. — He is the man for speeches to make you 
stare with ! 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR [to NEUMANN). 

Who, pray, may that swarthy man be, he with the cross, 
that is chatting so confidently with Esterhats ? 

NEUMANN. 

Ay ! he too is one of those to whom they confide too much 
He calls himself Maradas, a Spaniard is he. 

master of the cellar (impatiently). 
Spaniard! Spaniard! — I tell you, friend, nothing good 
comes of those Spaniards. All these outlandish fellows are 
little better than rogues. 

NEUMANN. 

Fy, fy ! you should not say so, friend. There are among 
them our very best generals, and those on whom the Duke at 
this moment relies the most. 

MASTER OF THE CELLAR. 

[Taking the flask out of the Runner's pocket. 
My son, it will be broken to pieces in your pocket. 

[Terzky hurries in, fetches away the Paper and 
calls to a Servant for Pen and Ink, and goes to 
the back of the Stage. 

master of the cellar [to the Servants). 
The Lieutenant- General stands up. — Be on the watch — 
Now ! They break up. — Off and move back the forms. 

[They rise at all the Tables, the Servants hurry off 
the front of the Stage to the Tables ; part of the 
guests come forward 



BC VI.] THE PICCOL0M1JNI 268 

Scene VI 

Octavio Piccolomini enters in conversation ivith Maradas, 
and both place themselves quite on the edge of the Stage on 
one side of the Proscenium, On the side directly opposite, 
Max. Piccolomini, by himself, lost in thought, and taking 
no part in any thing that is going forward. The middle 
space between both, but rather more distant from the edge of 
fhe Stage, is filled up by Butler, Isolani, Goetz, Tiefen- 
bach, and Kolatto. 

isolani (while the Company is coming forward). 
Good night, good night, Kolatto ! Good night, Lieutenant 
General ! — I should rather say, good morning. 

GOETZ (fo TIEFENBACH). 

Noble brother ! (making the usual compliment after meals). 

TIEFENBACH. 

Ay ! 'twas a royal feast indeed. 

GOETZ. 

Yes, my Lady Countess understands these matters. Her 
mother-in-law, Heaven rest her soul, taught her ! — Ah ! that 
was a housewife for you ! 

TIEFENBACH. 

There was not her like in all Bohemia for setting out a 
table 

octavio i aside to maradas). 

Do me the favour to talk to me — talk of what you will — or 
of nothing. Only preserve the appearance at least of talking. 
I would not wish to stand by myself, and yet I conjecture 
that there will be goings on here worthy of our attentive 
observation. (He continues to fix his eye on the whole follow* 
ing scene.) 

isolani (on the point of going). 
Lights ! lights ! 

terzky (advances with the Paper to Isolani). 
Noble brother ; two minutes longer ! — Here is something 
to subscribe. 

ISOLANI. 

Subscribe as much as you like — but you must excuse me 
from reading it. 



264 THE PICCOLOMINT. [ACT IV 

TEKZKY. 

There is no need. It is the oath which you have already 
read. — Only a few marks of your pen ! 

[Isolani hands over the Paper to Octavio respectfully 

TERZKY. 

Nay, nay, first come first served. There is no precedence 
here. [Octavto runs over the Paper with apparent indiffer- 
ence. Terzky watches him at some distance. 

GOETZ (tO TERZKY). 

Noble Count ! with your permission — good night. 

TERZKY. 

Where's the hurry ? Come, one other composing draught. 
(To the Servants). — Ho ! 

GOETZ. 

Excuse me — a nt able. 

TERZKY. 

A thimble-full ! 

GOETZ. 

Excuse me. 

TIEFENBACH (sits down). 

Pardon me, nobles ! — This standing does not agree with 
me. 

TERZKY. 

Consult only your own convenience, General ! 

TIEFENBACH. 

Clear at head, sound in stomach — only my legs won't carry 
me any longer 

isolani (pointing at his corpulence). 
Poor legs ! how should they ! Such an unmerciful load I 
[Octavio subscribes his name, and reaches over the 
Paper to Terzky, who gives it to Isolani ; and he 
goes to the table to sign his name. 

TIEFENBACH. 

Twas that war in Pomerania that first brought it on. Out 
in all weathers — ice and snow— no help for it. I shall never 
sjet the better of it all the days of my life 

GOETZ. 

Why, in simple verity, your Swede makes no nice inquiries 
about the season 



riC. VI ] THE PICCOLOMINI. 2G6 

terzky {observing isolani, whose hand trembles excessively so 
that he can scarce direct his pen). 
Have you had that ugly complaint long, noble brother? — 
Dispatch it. 

ISOLANI. 

The sins of youth! I have already tried the chalybeate 
waters Well — I must bear it. 

[Tekzky gives the Paper to Makadas; he steps to 
the table to subscribe. 

octavio [advancing to butlee). 
You are not over fond of the orgies of Bacchus, Colonel 1 
I have observed it. You would, I think, find yourself more 
to your liking in the uproar of a battle, than of a feast. 

BUTLER. 

I must confess, 'tis not in my way. 

octavio {stepping nearer to him friendlily). 
Nor in mine either, I can assure you; and I am not a 
little glad, my much honoured Colonel Butler, that we agree 
so well in our opinions*. A half dozen good friends. at most, 
at a small round table, a glass of genuine Tokay, open hearts, 
and a rational conversation— that's my taste ! 

BUTLER. 

And mine too, when it can be had. 

[The paper comes to Tiefenbach, who glances over 
it at the same time with Goetz and Kolatto. 
Maradas in the mean time returns to Octavio. 
All this takes place, the conversation with Butler 
proceeding uninterrupted. 

octavio {introducing maradas to butler). 

Don Balthasar Maradas ! likewise a man of our stamp, and 
long ago your admirer. [Butler bows. 

octavio {continuing). 

You are a stranger here — 'twas but yesterday you arrived 
— you are ignorant of the ways and means here. 'Tis a 
wretched place — I know, at our age, one loves to be snug and 
quiet. What if you moved your lodgings? — Come, be my 
visitor. (Butler makes a low bow.) Nay, without comply 
ment! — For a friend like you, I have still a corner re- 
maining. 



266 THE P1CC0L0MINI [ACT IV. 

BUTLER (coldly). 

Your obliged humble servant, my Lord Lieutenant- General. 
[The payer comes to Butler, who goes to the table 
to subscribe it. The front of the stage is vacant, 
so that both the Piccolominis, each on the side 
where he had been from the commencement of the 
scene, remain alone. 
octavto (after having some time watched his son in silence, 
advances somewhat nearer to him). 
You were long absent from us, friend ! 

MAX. 

I urgent business detained me. 

OCTAVIO. 

And, I observe, you are still absent ! 

MAX. 

You know this crowd and bustle always makes me silent. 

octavio (advancing still nearer). 
May I be permitted to ask what the business was that 
detained you ? Terzky knows it without asking ? 

MAX. 

What does Terzky know ? 

OCTAVIO. 

He was the only one who did not miss you. 
tsoLANi (who has been attending to them for some distance t 

steps up). 
Well done, father! Kout out his baggage! Beat up his 
quarters ! there is something there that should not be. 
terzky (with the paper). 
Is there none wanting? Have the whole subscribed? 

OCTAVIO. 

All 

terzky (calling aloud). 
Ho ! Who subscribes ? 

BUTLER (tO TERZKY). 

Count the names. There ought to be just thirty. 

TERZKY. 

Here is a cross. 

TIEFENBAOH. 

That's nw mark. 



SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 967 

ISOLANI. 

He cannot write ; but his cross is a good cross, and is 
honoured by Jews as well as Christians. 

octavio (presses on to max.). 
Come, general ! let us go. It is late. 

TERZKY. 

One Piccolomini only has signed. 

isolani [pointing to max.). 
Look ! that is your man, that statue there, who has had 
neither eye, ear, nor tongue for us the whole evening. 

[Max. receives the paper from Terzky, which he looks 
upon vacantly. 

Scene VII. 

To these enter Illo from the inner room. He has in his 
hand a golden service-cup, and is extremely distempered with 
drinking; Goetz and Butler follow him, endeavouring to 
keep him back. 

ILLO. 

What do you want? Let me go. 

goetz and butler. 

Drink no more, Illo ! For Heaven's sake, drink no more. 

illo (goes up to octavio, and shakes him cordially by the 

hand, and then drinks). 

Octavio ! I bring this to you ! Let all grudge be drowned 
in this friendly bowl ! I know well enough, ye never loved 
me — Devil take me ! — and I never loved you ! — I am always 
even with people in that way ! Let what's past be past — 
that is, you understand — forgotten! I esteem you infinitely 
(Embracing him repeatedly). You have not a dearer friend 
on earth than I — but that you know. The fellow that cries 
rogue to you calls me villain — and I'll strangle him!— my 
dear friend ! 

terzky (whispering to him). 

Art in thy senses ? For Heaven's sake, Illo, think where 
you are ! 

illo (aloud). 

What do you mean ? — There are none but friends here, are 
there? (Looks round the whole circle with a jolly and tri- 
umphant air.) Not a sneaker amongst us, thank Heaven ! 



268 THE PICCOLOMINI [ACT IV. 

tebzky (to butlee, eagerly). 
Take him off with you, force him off, I entreat you, Butler ! 

BUTLER (to ILLO). 

Field Marshal! a word with you. (Leads him to the 
sideboard)* 

illo (cordially). 
A thousand for one; Fill — Fill it once more up to the 
brim. To this gallant man's health ! 

isolani (to max. who all the while has been staring on the 
paper with fixed but vacant eyes). 
Slow and sure my noble brother ! — Hast parsed it all yet? 
Some words yet to go through?— Ha? 

max. (waking as from a dream). 
What am I to do ? 

terzky, and at the same time isolani. 
Sign your name. (Octavio directs his eyes on him with in- 
tense anxiety.) 

max. (returns the paper). 
Let it stay till to-morrow. It is business— to-day I am not 
sufficiently collected. Send it to me to-morrow. 

TERZKY. 

Nay, collect yourself a little. 

isolani. 

Awake man ! awake ! — Come, thy signature, and have done 
with it ! What ! Thou art the youngest in the whole company, 
and would be wiser than all of us together ? Look there ! thy 
father has signed — we have all signed. 

TERZKY (fo OCTAVIO). 

Use your influence. Instruct him. 

OCTAVIO. 

My son is at the age of discretion. 

illo {leaves the service-cup on the sideboard). 
What's the dispute? 

TERZKY. 

He declines subscribing the paper. 

MAX. 

I say, it may as well stay till to-morrow. 

illo. 
It cannot stay. We have all subscribed to it — and 30 
must you. — You must subscribe. 



SC. VII.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 269 

MAX. 

Illo, good night ! 

ILLO. 

No ! You come not off so! The Duke shall learn who are 
his friends. (All collect round Illo and Max.) 

MAX. 

What my sentiments are towards the Duke, the Duke knows, 
every one knows — what need of this wild stuff? 

ILLO. 

This is the thanks the Duke gets for his partiality to Ita- 
lians and foreigners. Us Bohemians he holds for little hetter 
ihan dullards — nothing pleases him but what's outlandish. 

teezky (in extreme embarrassment, to the Commanders, who 

at illo's words give a sudden start as preparing to resent 

them.) 

It is the wine that speaks, and not his reason. Attend not 
10 him, I entreat you. 

isolani [with a bitter laugh). 

Wine invents nothing : it only tattles. 

ILLO. 

He who is not with me is against me. Your tender con 
sciences ! Unless they can slip out by a back-door, by a puny 
proviso — 

teezky (interrupting him). 

±Ie is stark mad — don't listen to him ! 

illo (raising his voice to the highest pitch). 
Unless they can slip out by a proviso. What of the pro- 
viso ? The devil take this proviso ! 

max. (has his attention roused, and looks again into the paper). 
What is there here then of such perilous import? You 
make me curious — I must look closer at it. 

teezky (in a low voice to illo). 
What are you doing, Illo ? You are ruining us. 

TIEFENBACH (to KOLATTO). 

Ay, ay ! I observed, that before we sat down to supper, it 
was read differently. 

GOETZ. 

Why, I seemed to think so too. 



270 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT IV. 

ISOLANI. 

What do I care for that ? Where there stand other names, 
mine can stand too. 

TIEFENBACH. 

Before supper there was a certain proviso therein, or short 
clause, concerning our duties to the Emperor. 

butler (to one of the Commanders). 
For shame, for shame ! Bethink you. What is the main 
business here? The question now is, whether we shall keep 
our General, or let him retire. One must not take these 
things too nicely, and over-scrupulously. 

isolani (to one of the Generals). 
Did the Duke make any of these provisos when he gave 
you your regiment ? 

TERZKY (tO GOETz). 

Or when he gave you the office of army-purveyancer, which 
brings you in yearly a thousand pistoles ! 

ILLO. 

He is a rascal who makes us out to be rogues. If there be 
any one that wants satisfaction, let him say so, — I am his man. 

TIEFENBACH 

Softly, softly ! 'Twas but a word or two. 

max. (having read the paper gives it back). 
Till to-morrow therefore ! 

illo (stammering with rage and fury, loses all command over 
himself and presents the paper to max. with one hand, and 
his sword in the other). 

Subscribe —Judas ! 

ISOLANI. 

Out upon you, Illo ! 

octavio, terzky, butler (all together). 
Down with the sword ! 

max. (rushes on him suddenly and disarms him, then to count 

terzky\ 
Take him off to bed. 

[Max. leaves the stage. — Illo cursing and raving is held 
back by some of the Officers, and amidst a universal 
confusion the Curtain drops. 



MSV V , SO. I.j THE PICCOLOMINI 271 

ACT V 

Scene I. 

A Chamber in Piccolomini's Mansion. — It is Night 

Octavio Piccolomini. A Valet de Chambre with Lights. 

OCTAVIO. 

« -And when my son comes in, conduct him hither. 

What is the hour ? 

VALET. 

'Tis on the point of morning 

OCTAVIO. 

Set down the light. We mean not to undress. 

You may retire to sleep. 

[Exit Valet. Octavio paces, musing, across the cham* 
her ; Max. Piccolomini enters unobserved, and looks 
at his father for some moments in silence. 

MAX. 

Art thou offended with me ? Heaven knows 

That odious business was no fault of mine. 

'Tis true, indeed, I saw thy signature, 

What thou hadst sanction 'd, should not, it might seem, 

Have come amiss to me. But — 'tis my nature— 

Thou know'st that in such matters I must follow 

My own light, not another's. 

octavio {goes up to him and embraces him) 
Follow it, 

follow it still further, my best son ! 
To-night, dear boy ! it hath more faithfully 
Guided thee than the example of thy father. 

MAX. 

Declare thyself less darkly. 

OCTAVIO. 

I will do so ; 
For after what has taken place this night, 
There must remain no secrets 'twixt us two. 

[Both seat themselves. 
Max. Piccolomini ! what thinkest thou of 
The oath that was sent round for signatures ? 

MAX. 

1 hold it for a thing of harmless import, 
Although I love not these set declarations 



272 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT V. 

OCTAVIO. 

And on no other ground hast thou refused 
The signature they fain had wrested from thee ? 

MAX. 

It was a serious business 1 was absent — 

The affair itself seem'd not so urgent to me. 

OCTAVIO. 

Be open, Max. Thou hadst then no suspicion ? 

MAX. 

Suspicion! what suspicion? Not the least. 

OCTAVIO. 

Thank thy good angel, Piccolomini : 

He drew thee back unconscious from the abyss. 

MAX. 

I know not what thou meanest. 

OCTAVIO. 

I will tell thee. 
Fain would they have extorted from thee, son, 
The sanction of thy name to villany ; 
Yes, with a single nourish of thy pen, 
Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honour ! 

max. [rises). 
Octavio ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Patience ! Seat yourself. Much yet 
Hast thou to hear from me, friend ! — hast for years 
Lived in incomprehensible illusion. 
Before thine eyes is Treason drawing out 
As black a web as e'er was spun for venom: 
A power of hell o'erclouds thy understanding. 
I dare no longer stand in silence — dare 
No longer see thee wandering on in darkness, 
Nor pluck the bandage from thine eyes. 

MAX. 

My father 
Yet, ere thou speakest, a moment's pause of thought 1 
If your disclosures should appear to be 
Conjectures only — and almost I fear 
They will be nothing further — spare them ! I 
Am not in that collected mood at present, 
That I could listen to them quietly. 



£0 I.] THE PICC0L0MINI. 278 

OGTAVIO. 

The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light, 

The more impatient cause have I, my son, 

To force it on thee. To the innocence 

And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee 

With calm assurance — but I see the net 

Preparing — and it is thy heart itself 

Alarms me for thine innocence— that secret, 

[Fixing his eyes stedfastly on his sons j ace. 
Which thou concealest, forces mine from me. 

[max. attempts to answer, but hesitates, and casts /«* 
eyes to the ground embarrassed. 

octavio (after a pause). 
Know, then, they are duping thee ! — a most foul game 
With thee and with us all — nay, hear me calmly — 
The Duke even now is playing. He assumes 
The mask, as if he would forsake the army ; 
And in this moment makes he preparations 
That army from the Emperor to steal, 
And carry it over to the enemy! 

MAX. 

That low Priest's legend I know well, but did not 
Expect to hear it from thy mouth. 

OCTAVIO. 

That mouth, 
From which thou hearest it at this present moment, 
Doth warrant thee that it is no Priest's legend. 

MAX 

How mere a maniac they supposed the Duke ; 
What, he can meditate ? — the Duke ? — can dream 
That he can lure away full thirty thousand 
Tried troops and true, all honourable soldiers, 
More than a thousand noblemen among them, 
From oaths, from duty, from their honour lure them. 
And make them all unanimous to do 
A deed that brands them scoundrels ? 

OCTAVIO 

Such a doed, 
With such a front of infamy, the Duke 
No way desires — what he requires of us 



274 THE PICCOLOMINI. ~A02 V 

Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing 
He wishes, but to give the Empire peace. 
And so, because the Emperor hates this peace, 
Therefore the Duke — the Duke will force him to it, 
All parts of the Empire will he pacify, 
And for his trouble will retain in payment 
(What he has already in his gripe) — Bohemia! 

MAX. 

Has he, Octavio, merited of us, 

That we— that we should think so vilely of him ? 

OCTAVIO. 

What we icould think is not the question here, 
The affair speaks for itself— and clearest proofs \ 
Hear me, my son — 'tis not unknown to thee, 
In what ill credit with the Court we stand. 
But little dost thou know, or guess, what tricks, 
What base intrigues, what lying artifices, 
Have been employed — for this sole end — to sow 
Mutiny in the camp ! All bands are loosed — 
Loosed all the bands, that link the officer 
To his liege Emperor, all that bind the soldier 
Affectionately to the citizen 
Lawless he stands, and threateningly beleaguers 
The state he's bound to guard. To such a height 
'Tis swoln, that at this hour the Emperor 
Before his armies— his own armies — tremoi.es ; 
Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears 
The traitors' poniards, and is meditating 

To hurry off and hide his tender offspring 

Not from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans — No ! 
From his own troops to hide and hurry them ! 

MAX. 

Cease, cease ! thou torturest, shatterest me. I know 
That oft we tremble at an empty terror ; 
But the false phantasm brings a real misery. 

OCTAVIO 

It is no phantasm. An intestine war, 
Of all the most unnatural and cruel, 
Will burst out into flames, if instantly 
We do not fly and stifle it. The Generals 



60. 1.J THE PICC0L0MINI. 275 

Are many of them long ago won over ; 
The subalterns are vacillating — whole 
Regiments and garrisons are vacillating. 
To foreigners our strongholds are entrusted ; 
To that suspected Schafgotch is the whole 
Force of Silesia given up : to Terzky 
Five regiments, foot and horse — to Isolani, 
To Illo, Kinsky, Butler, the best troops. 

MAX. 

Likewise to both of us. 

OCTAVIO. 

Because the Dake 
Believes he has secured us — means to lure us 
Still further on by splendid promises. 
To me he portions forth the princedoms, Glatz 
And Sagan ; and too plain I see the bait 
With which he doubts not but to catch thee. 

MAX. 

No! no I 
I tell thee—no ! 

OCTAVIO. 

open yet thine eyes ! 
And to what purpose think'st thou he has called 
Hither to Pilsen ? — to avail himself 
Of our advice ? — when did Friedland ever 
Need our advice ? — Be calm, and listen to me. 
To sell ourselves are we called hither, and 
Decline we that — to be his hostages. 
Therefore doth noble G alias stand aloof; 
Thy father, too, thou wouldst not have seen here, 
If higher duties had not held him fetter'd. 

MAX. 

He makes no secret of it— needs make none — 
That we're called hither for his sake —he owns it 
He needs our aidance to maintain himself — 
He did so much for us ; and 'tis but fair 
That we, too, should do somewhat now for him. 

OCTAVTO. 

And know'st thou what it is which we must do ? 
That Illo's drunken mood letray'd it to thee. 

T 2 



270 THE PICCOLOMINI ACT V 

Betliiuk thyself — what hast thou heard, what seen ? 
The counterfeited paper — the omission 
Of that particular clause, so full of meaning, 
Does it not prove, that they would bind us down 
To nothing good ? 

MAX. 

That counterfeited paper 
Appears to me no other than a trick 
Of Illo's own device. These underhand 
Traders in great men's interests ever use 
To urge and hurry all things to the extreme. 
They see the Duke at variance with the Court, 
And fondly think to serve him, when they widen 
The breach irreparably. Trust me, father, 
The Duke knows nothing of all this. 

OCTAVIO. 

It grieves me 
That I must dash to earth, that I must shatter 
A faith so specious ; but I may not spare thee ! 
For this is not a time for tenderness. 
Thou must take measures, speedy ones — must act. 
I therefore will confess to thee, that all 
Which I've entrusted to thee now — that all 
Which seems to thee so unbelievable, 
That — yes, I will tell thee — {a pause) — Max. ! I had it all 
From his own mouth — from the Duke's mouth I had it. 

max (in excessive agitation). 
No ! — no i— never ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Himself confided to me 
What I, 'tis true, had lpng before discovered 
By other means — himself confided to me, 
That 'twas his settled plan to join the Swedes; 
And, at the head of the united armies, 
Compel the Emperor 

MAX. 

He is passionate, 
The Court has stung him — he is sore all over 
With injuries and affronts ; and in a moment 
Of irritation, what if he, for once, 
Forgot himself? He's an impetuous man 



SO I ] THE PICCOLOX1NI 277 

OCTAVIO. 

Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me 
And having construed my astonishment 
Into a scruple of his power, he showed me 
His written evidences — showed me letters, 
Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave 
Promise of aidance, and denned the amount 

MAX. 

It cannot be ! — can not be ! — can not be ! 

Dost thou not see, it cannot ! 

Thou wouldst of necessity have shown him 

Such horror, such deep loathing — that or ho 

Had taken thee for his better genius, or 

Thou stood'st not now a living man before nie> - 

OCTAVIO. 

I have laid open my objections to him, 
Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness ; 
But my abhorrence, the full sentiment 
Of my whole heart — that I have still kept sacred 
To my own consciousness. 

MAX. 

And thou hast been 
So treacherous ? That looks not like my father i 
I trusted not thy words, wher* thou didst tell me 
Evil of him ; much less can I now do it, 
That thou calumniatest thy own self. 

OCTAVIO, 

I did not thrust myself into his secrecy 

MAX. 

Uprightness merited his confidence, 

OCTAVIO. 

He was no longer worthy of sincerity 

MAX. 

Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy 
Of thee, Octavio! 

OCTAVIO. 

Gave I him a cause 
To entertain a scruple of my honour"? 

MAX. 

That he did not evinced his confidence. 



278 THE PICCOLOMINI [kO*D 7. 

OCTAVIO. 

Dear son, it is not always possible 

Still to preserve that infant purity 

Which the voice teaches in our inmost hear , 

Still in alarm, for ever on the watch 

Against the wiles of wicked men : e'en Virtue 

Will sometimes bear away her outward robes 

Soiled in the wrestle with Iniquity. 

This is the curse of every evil deed, 

That, propagating still, it brings forth evil. 

I do not cheat my better soul with sophisms ; 

I but perform my orders ; the Emperor 

Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest boy, 

Far better were it, doubtless, if we all 

Obey'd the heart at all times ; but so doiug., 

In this our present sojourn with bad men, 

We must abandon many an honest object. 

'Tis now our call to serve the Emperor ; 

By what means he can best be served — the heart. 

May whisper what it will — this is our call ! 

MAX 

It seems a thing appointed, that to-day 

I should not comprehend, not understand thee 

The Duke, thou sayst, did honestly pour out 

His heart to thee, but for an e\ il purpose : 

And thou dishonestly hast cheated him 

For a good purpose ! Silence, I entreat thee — 

My friend, thou stealest not from me — 

Let me not lose my father ! 

octavio (suppressing resentment). 
As yet thou know'st not all, my son. I have 
Yet somewhat to disclose to thee. [After a pauce 

Duke Friedland 
Hath made his preparations. He relies 
Upon his stars. He deems us unprovided, 
And thinks to fall upon us by surprise. 
Yea, in his dream of hope, he grasps already 
The golden circle in his hand. He errs, 
We, too, have been in action — he but grasps 
His evil fate, most evil, most mysterious ! 



PC. f.J THE PICCOLOMINI. 279 

MAX. 

nothing rash, my sire ! By all that's good 
Let me invoke thee — no precipitation ! 

OCTAVIO. 

With light tread stole he on his evil way, 
And light of tread hath Vengeance stole on after him. 
Unseen she stands already, dark behind him — 
But one step move — he shudders in her grasp ! 
Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. As yet, 
Thou know'st but his ostensible commission . 
He brought with him a private one, my son ! 
And that was for me only. 

MAX. 

May I know it? 
octavio (seizes the patent). 



-In this disclosure place I in thy hands 



Max.! 

[A pame 



The Empire's welfare and thy father's life : 
Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein : 
A powerful tie of love, of veneration, 
Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest youth. 
Thou nourishest the wish, — let me still 
Anticipate thy loitering confidence ! 
The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself 
Yet closer to him 

MAX. 

Father 



OCTAVIO. 

O, my sou ! 
I trust thy heart undoubtingly. But am I 
Equally sure of thy collectedness ? 
Wilt thou be able, with calm countenance, 
To enter this man's presence, when that I 
Have trusted to thee his whole fate ? 

MAX. 

According 
As thou dost trust me, father, with his crime. 

[Octavio takes a paper out of his escratoir^ 
and gives it to him 



28'* THS PICCOLOMINI [kCT V. 

MAX. 

What ! how ! a full Imperial patent ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Read it. 
max. (just glances on it). 
Duke Friedland sentenced and condemn'd ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Even so. 
max. [throws down the paper). 
this is too much ! unhappy error ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Read on. Collect thyself. 

max. (after he has read further, with a look of affright and 
astonishment on his father). 

How! what! Thou! thou! 

OCTAVIO. 

But for the present moment, till the King 
Of Hungary may safely join the army, 
Is the command assign 'd to me. 

MAX. 

And thinkst thou-, 
Dost thou believe, that thou wilt tear it from him ? 
O never hope it ! — Father ! father ! father ! 
An inauspicious office is enjoin'd thee. 
This paper here — this ! and wilt thou enforce it ? 
The mighty in the middle of his host, 
Surrounded by his thousands, him wouldst thou 
Disarm — degrade ! Thou art lost, both thou and all of as 

OCTAVIO. 

What-hazard I incur thereby, I know 
In the great hand of God I stand. The Almighty 
Will cover with his shield the Imperial house, 
And shatter, in his wrath, the work of darkness. 
The Emperor hath true servants still ; and even 
Here in the camp, there are enough brave men 
Who for the good cause will fight gallantly. 
The faithful have been warn'd — the dangerous 
Are closely watch'd. I wait but the first step, 
And then immediatel T — 



SO 1.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 2ft 1 



MAX. 

What ! on suspicion 9 
Immediate j? 

OCTAVIO. 

The Emperor is no tyrant. 
The deed alone he'll punish, not the wish. 
The Duke hath yet his destiny in his power. 
Let him but leave the treason uncompleted, 
He will be silently displaced from office, 
And make way to his Emperor's royal son 
An honourable exile to his castles 
Will be a benefaction to him rather 
Than punishment. But the first open step — 

MAX. 

What callest thou such a step ? A wicked step 
Ne'er will he take ; but thou mightest easily, 
Yea, thou hast done it, misinterpret him 

OCTAVIO. 

Nay, howsoever punishable were 

Duke Friedland's purposes, yet still the steps 

Which he hath taken openly, permit 

A mild construction. It is my intention 

To leave this paper wholly unenforced 

Till some act is committed which convicts him 

Of high treason, without doubt or plea, 

And that shall sentence him 

MAX. 

But w T ho the judge ? 

OCTAVIO. 

Thyself 

MAX. 

For ever, then, this paper will lie idle. 

OCTAVIO. 

Too soon, I fear, its powers must all be proved. 
After the counter promise of this evening. 
It cannot be but he must deem himself 
Secure of the majority with us ; 
And of the army's general sentiment 
He hath a pleasing proof in that petition, 



^02 THE PICCOLOMINI. [AjCT 7 

Which thou delivered'st to him from the regiments. 
Add this too — I have letters that the Rhinegrave 
Hath changed his route, and travels by forced marches 
To the Bohemian forests. What this purports 
Remains unknown ; and, to confirm suspicion, 
This night a Swedish nobleman arrived here. 

MAX. 

I have thy word. Thoult not proceed to action 
Before thou hast convinced me — me myself. 

OCTAVIO. 

Is it possible ? Still, after all thou know'st, 
Canst thou believe still in his innocence ? 

max. [with enthusiasm). 
Thy judgment may mistake ; my heart can not. 

[Moderates Ms voice and manv£T 
These reasons might expound thy spirit or mine ; 
But they expound not Fried! and — I have faith : 
For as he knits his fortunes to the stars, 
Even so doth he resemble them in secret, 
Wonderful, still inexplicable courses ! 
Trust me, they do him wrong. All will be solved. 
These smokes at once will kindle into flame — 
The edges of this black and stormy cloud 
Will brighten suddenly, and we shall view 
The Unapproachable glide out in splendour. 

OCTAVIO. 

I will await it. 

Scene II. 

Octavio and Max. as before. To them the Valet of the 

Chamber. 

OCTAVIO. 

How now, then ? 

VALET. 

A despatch is at the door. 

OCTAVIO. 

So early ? From whom comes he then ? Who is it? 

VALET 

That he refused to tell me. 



SO. II.] THE PICOOLOMINI. 283 

OCTAVIO. 

Lead him in : 
And, hark you — let it not transpire. 

[Exit Valet ; the Cornet steps in . 

OCTAVIO. 

Ha ! Cornet — is it you ? and from Count Gallas ? 
Give me your letters. 

CORNET. 

The Lieutenant-General 
Trusted it not to letters. 

OCTAVIO. 

And what is it ? 

CORNET. 

He bade me tell you — Dare I speaK opeiuy here ? 

OCTAVIO. 

My son knows all. 

CORNET. 

We have him. 

OCTAVIO. 

Whom V 



Sesina, 



CORNET. 

The old negociator. 

octavto (eagerly). 
And you have him? 

CORNET. 

In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand 
Found and secured him yester morning early : 
He was proceeding then to Regensburg, 
And on him were despatches for the Swede. 

OCTAVIO. 

And the despatches 

CORNET 

The Lieutenant-General 
Sent them that instant to Vienna, and 
The prisoner with them. 

OCTAVIO. 

This is, indeed, a tiding ! 
That fellow is a precious casket to us, 
Enclosing weighty things. — Was much found en him ? 



284 THE PICCOLOMINI. [ACT V. 

COKNET. 

I think, six packets, with Count Terzky's arms. 

OCTAVIO. 

None in the Duke's own hand ? 

CORNET. 

Not that I know 

OCTAYIO. 

And old Sesina ? 

CORNET. 

He was sorely frighten'd, 
When it was told him he must to Vienna 
But the Count Altringer bade him take heart. 
Would he but make a full and free confession. 

OCTAVIO. 

Is Altringer then with your Lord ? I heard 
That he lay sick at Linz. 

CORNET. 

These three days past 
He's with my master, the Lieutenant- General, 
At Frauenburg. Already have they sixty 
Small companies together, chosen men ; 
Respectfully they greet you with assurances, 
That they are only waiting your commands. 

OCTAVIO. 

In a few days may great events take place. 
And when must you return ? 

CORNET. 

I wait your orders 

OCTAVIO. 

Remain till evening. 

Comet signifies Ms assent and obeisance, and is gving 
No one saw you — ha ? 

CORNET. 

No living creature. Through the cloister wicket 
The Capuchins, as usual, let me in. 

OCTAVIO. 

Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself conceal'd. 
I hold it probable, that yet ere evening 
I shall despatch yon The development 



3C. III. J THE PICCOLOMINI. 285 

Of this affair approaches : ere the day. 
That even now is dawning in the heaven, 
Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot 
That must decide our fortunes will be drawn. 

[Exit Cornet. 

Scene III. 
Octavio and Max. Piccolomini. 
octavio. 
Well — and what now, son ? All will soon be clear ; 
For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina. 
max. (who through the whole of the foregoing scene has 
been in a violent and visible struggle of feelings, at length 
starts as one resolved). 
I will procure me light a shorter way, 
Farewell. 

OCTAVIO. 

Where now ? — Remain here. 

MAX. 

To the Duke. 

octavio (alarmed). 

What 

max. (returning). 
If thou hast believed that I shall act 



A part in this thy play— 

Thou hast miscalculated on me grievously. 

My way must be straight on. True with the tongue, 

False with the heart — I may not, cannot bo: 

Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me — 

As his friend trust me — and then lull my conscience 

With such low pleas as these : — " I ask him not — 

He did it all at his own hazard — and 

My mouth has never lied to him." — No, no ! 

What a friend takes me for, that I must be. 

— I'll to the Duke ; ere yet this day is ended 

Will. I demand of him that he do save 

His good name from the world, and with one stride 

Break through and rend this fine-spun web of your?. 

He can, he will ! — I still am his believer 

Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters 



S>yG THE PICCOLOMINI. [kOT V 

May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him. 

How far may not this Terzky have proceeded — 

What may not he himself too have permitted 

Himself to do, to snare the enemy, 

The laws of war excusing ? Nothing, save 

His own mouth shall convict him — nothing less ! 

And face to face will I go question him. 

OCTAVIO 

Thou wilt ? 

MAX. 

I will, as sure as this heart beats. 

OCTAVIO. 

I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee. 
I calculated on a prudent son, 
Who would have bless'd the hand beneficent 
That pluck'd him back from the abyss — and lo ! 
A fascinated being I discover, 
Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders* 
Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal. 
Go, question him ! — Be mad enough, I pray thee. 
The purpose of thy father, of thy Emperor, 
Go, give it up free booty ! — Force me, drive nio 
To an open breach before the time. And now* 
Now that a miracle of Heaven had guarded 
My secret purpose even to this hour, 
And laid to sleep Suspicion's piercing eyes, 
Let me have lived to see that mine own sou, 
With frantic enterprise, annihilates 
My toilsome labours and state-policy. 

MAX. 

Ay — this state policy? how I curse it ! 

You will some time, with your state-policy. 

Compel him to the measure : it may happen, 

Because ye are determined that he is guilty, 

Guilty yell make him. All retreat cut off, 

You close up every outlet, hem him in 

Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force kiin — 

Yes, ye y ye force him, in his desperation, 

To set iire to his prison. Father ! father ! 

That never can end well— it cannot — will not i 



3 111.] THE PICCOLOMINI. 287 

And let it be decided as it may, 
I see with boding heart the near approach 
Of an ill-starr'd, unblest catastrophe. 
For this great Monarch-spirit, if he fall, 
Will drag a world into the ruin with him. 
And as a ship (that midway on the ocean 
Takes fire) at once, and with a thunder-burst 
Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew 
In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven ! 
So will he, falling, draw down in his fall 
All us, who 're fix'd and mortised to his fortune. 
Deem of it what thou wilt ; but pardon me, 
That I must bear me on in my own way. 
All must remain pure betwixt him and me : 
And, ere the daylight dawns, it must be known 
Which I must lose — my father, or my friend. 

[During his exit the curtain irops t 



0Ni) oh v&a j?iJj:;t.3MU»i 



THE 

DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

« Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Butler, an Irishman, Comnantltr 

Generalissimo of the Imperial of a Regiment of Dragoons. 

Forces in the Thirty Years' War. Gordon, Governor of Egra. 
Duchess op Friedland, Wife of Major Gteraldin. 

Wallenstein. Captain Devereux. 

Thekla, her Daughter, Princess of Captain Macdonald. 

Friedland. An Adjutant. 

The Countess Terzky, Sister of the Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide- 
Duchess, de-camp to Terzky. 
Lady Neubrunn. Colonel Wrangel, Envoy from thi 
Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant- Swedes. 

General. Rosenburg, Master of Horse. 

Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel Swedish Captain. 

of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. Seni. 

Count Terzky, the Commander of Burgomaster of Egra. 

several Regiments, and Brother-in- Anspessade of the Cuirassiers. 

law of Wallenstein. Groom of the Cham- ) t> , 

Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein 's ber, C h i eio ^9 to 

Confidant. A Page, ) the Duke ' 

J.soLANi, General of the Croats. Cuirassiers, Dragoons, Servants. 



ACT I 

Scene I. 

A Room fitted up for astrological laoours, and provided with 
celestial Charts, with Globes, Telescopes, Quadrants, and 
other mathematical Instruments. — Seven Colossal Figures, 
representing the Planets, each with a transparent Star of a 
different colour on its head, stand in a semicircle in the 
background, so that Mars and Saturn are nearest the eye. 
— The remainder of the Scene, and its disposition, is given 
in the Fourth Scene of the Second Act. — There must be a Cur 
tain over the Figures, which may be dropped, and conceal 
them on occasions. 

[In the Fifth Scene of this Act it must be dropped ; but in the 
Seventh Scene, it must be again drawn up wholly or in part.] 

Wallenstein at a black Table, on which a Speculum Astrolo- 
gicum is described with Chalk. Seni is taking Observations 
through a wiudcw. 



6^7. I.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 288 

WALLENSTEIN. 

All well — and now let it be ended, Seni. Come, 
The dawn commences, and Mars rules the hour. 
We must give o'er the operation. Come, 
We know enough. 

SENI. 

Your Highness must permit me 
Just to contemplate Venus. She's now rising: 
Like as a sun, so shines she in the east. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

She is at present in her perigee, 

And now shoots down her strongest influences. 

[Contemplating the figure on the table. 
Auspicious aspect! fateful in conjunction, 
At length the mighty three corradiate ; 
And the two stars of blessing, Jupiter 
And Venus, take between them the malignant 
Slily-malicious Mars, and thus compel 
Into my service that old mischief-founder : 
For long he viewed me hostilely, and ever 
With beam oblique, or perpendicular, 
Now in the Quartile, now in the Secundan, 
Shot his red lightnings at my stars, disturbing 
Their blessed influences and sweet aspects. 
Now they have conquer'd the old enemy, 
And bring him in the heavens a prisoner to me. 

seni [who has come down from the window). 
And in a corner house, your Highness — think of that ! 
That makes each influence of double strength. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And sun and moon, too, in the Sextile aspect, 
The soft light with the vehement— so I love it 
Sol is the heart, Luna the head of heaven, 
Bold be the plan, fiery the execution. 

SENI. 

And both the mighty Lumina by no 
Maleficus affronted. Lo ! Saturnus, 
Innocuous, powerless, in cadente Domo. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The empire of Saturnus is gone by ; 
Lord of the secret birth of things is he ; 



290 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACr I. 

Within the lap of earth, and in the depths 

Of the imagination dominates ; 

And his are all things that eschew the light. 

The time is o'er of brooding and contrivance, 

For Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth now, 

And the dark work, complete of preparation, 

He draws by force into the realm of light. 

Now must we hasten on to action, ere 

The scheme, and most auspicious positure 

Parts o'er my head, and takes once more its flight, 

For the heavens journey still, and sojourn not. 

[There are knocks at the door 
There's some one knocking there. See who it is. 

terzky [from without). 
Open, and let me in. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ay — 'tis Terzky. 
What is there of such urge rice ? We are busy. 

terzky (from without). 
Lay all aside at present, I entreat you. 
It suffers no delaying. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Open, Seni! 
[While Seni opens the door for Terzky, Wallensteih 
draws the curtain over the figures. 

Scene II. 
Wallenstein. Count Terzky 
terzky {enters). 
Hast thou already heard it ? He is taken. 
Gallas has given him up to the Emperor. 

[Seni draws off the black table, and exit. 

WALLENSTEIN (to TERZKY). 

Who has been taken ? Who is given up ? 

TERZKY 

fhe man who knows our secrets, who knows every 
Negotiation with the Swede and Saxon, 

Through whose hands all and every thing has pass'd • 

wallenstein \drawing back). 
Nay, not Sesina? — Say, No ! I entreat thee. 



SC. III. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 291 

TERZKY. 

All on his road for Eegensburg to the Swede 
He was plunged down upon by Gallas' agent, 
Who had been long in ambush, lurking for him. 
There must have been found on him my whole packet 
To Thur, to Kinsky, to Oxenstiern, to Arnheim: 
All this is in their hands ; they have now an insight 
Into the whole— our measures and our motives. 

Scene III. 
To them enters Illo. 

ILLO (to TEKZKY). 

Has he heard it ? 

TERZKY. 

He has heard it. 

ILLO (tO WALLENSTEINV 

Thinkest thou still 
To make thy peace with the Emperor, to regain 
His confidence ? E'en were it now thy wish 
To abandon all thy plans, yet still they know 
What thou hast wish'd : then forwards thou must press ; 
Eetreat is now no longer in thy power. 

TERZKY. 

They have documents against us, and in hands, 
Which show beyond all power of contradiction — 

WALLENSTETN. 

Of my handwriting — no iota. Thee 
I punish for thy lies 

ILLO. 

And thou believest, 
That what this man, and what thy sister's husband, 
Did in thy name, will not stand on thy reck'ning ? 
His word must pass for thy word with the Swede, 
And not with those that hate thee at Vienna ? 

TERZKY. 

In writing thou gavest nothing — But bethink thee.. 
How far thou venture dst by word of mouth 
With this Sesina ! And will he be silent ? 
If he can save himself by yielding up 
Thy secret purposes, will he retain them? 

U 2 



£92 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I 

ILLO 

Thyself dost not conceive it possible ; 
And since they now have evidence authentic 
How far thou hast already gone, speak! — tell us, 
What art thou waiting for? Thou canst no longer 
Keep thy command ; and beyond hope of rescue 
Thou rt lost, if thou resign 'st it. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

In the army 
Lies my security. The army will not 
Abandon me. Whatever they may know, 
The power is mine, and they must gulp it down — 
And if I give them caution for my fealty, 
They must be satisfied, at least appear so. 

ILLO. 

The army, Duke, is thine now — for this moment — 
'Tis thine : but think with terror on the slow, 
The quiet power of time. From open violence 
The attachment of thy soldiery secures thee 
To-day — to-morrow: but grant'st thou them a respite, 
Unheard, unseen, they'll undermine that love 
On which thou now dost feel so firm a footing, 
With wily theft will draw away from thee 
One after the other 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis a cursed accident ! 

ILLO. 

Oh ! I will call it a most blessed one, 
If it work on thee as it ought to do, 
Hurry thee on to action — to decision. 
The Swedish General 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He's arrived ! Know'st thou 
What his commission is 

ILLO. 

To thee alone 
Will he entrust the purpose of his coming. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

A cursed, cursed accident ! Yes, yes, 
Sesina knows too much, and won't be silent. 



80. HI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 295 

TERZKY. 

He's a Bohemian fugitive and rebel, 

His neck is forfeit. Can he save himself 

At thy cost, think you he will scruple it ? 

And if they put him to the torture, will he. 

Will he, that dastardling, have strength enough 

wallenstein (lost in thought). 
Their confidence is lost, irreparably ! 
And I may act which way I will, I shall 
Be and remain for ever in their thought 
A traitor to my country. How sincerely 
Soever I return back to my duty, 
It will no longer help me — — 

ILLO. 

Ruin thee, 
That it will do ! Not thy fidelity, 
Thy weakness will be deemed the sole occasion — 

wallenstein (pacing up and down in extreme agitation). 
What ! I must realize it now in earnest, 
Because I toy'd too freely with the thought ! 
Accursed he who dallies with a devil ! 
And must I — I must realize it now — 
Now, while I have the power, it must take place ? 

ILLO. 

Now — now — ere thejrcan ward and parry it ! 

wallenstein (looking at the paper of signatures). 
I have the Generals' word — a written promise ! 
Max. Piccolomini stands not here— how's that ? 

TERZKY. 

It was he fancied 

ILLO. 

Mere self-willedness. 
There needed no such thing 'twixt him and you. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He is quite right ; there needed no such thing. 
The regiments, too, deny to march for Flanders- 
Have sent me in a paper of remonstrance 
And openly resist the Imperial orders. 
The first step to revolt's already taken. 



294 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEEN [ACT I. 

ILLO. 

Believe me, thou wilt find it far more easy 
To lead them over to the enemy 
Than to the Spaniard. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I will hear, however ; 
What the Swede has to say to me. 

illo {eagerly to terzky). 

Go, call him 
He stands without the door in waiting. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Stay! 
Stay but a little. It hath taken me 
All by surprise ; it came too quick upon me ; 
'Tis wholly novel, that an accident, 
With its dark lordship, and blind agency, 
Should force me on with it. 

ILLO. 

First hear him only, 
And after weigh it. [Exeunt Terzky and Illo 

Scene IV. 
wallenstein (in soliloquy). 
Is it possible ? 
Is't so ? I can no longer what I would ? 
No longer draw back at my liking ? I 
Must do the deed, because I thought of it ? 
And fed this heart here with a dream ? Because 
I did not scowl temptation from my presence, 
Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment, 
Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain. 
And only kept the road, the access open ? 
By the great God of Heaven ! it was not 
My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolved. 
I but amused myself with thinking of it. 
The free-will tempted me, the power to do 
Or not to do it- — Was it criminal 
To make the fancy minister to hope, 
To fill the air with pretty toys of air, 
And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'ward me ! 
Was not the will kept free ? Beheld I not 



SC. IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 295 

The road of duty close beside me — but 

One little step, and once more I was in it ! 

Where am I ? Whither have I been transported ? 

No road, no track behind me, but a wall, 

Impenetrable, insurmountable, 

Rises obedient to the spells I muttered 

And meant not — my own doings tower behind me. 

[Pauses and remains in deep thought 
A punishable man I seem ; the guilt, 
Try what I will, I cannot roll off from me ; 
The equivocal demeanour of my life 
Bears witness on my prosecutor's party. 
And even my purest acts from purest motives 
Suspicion poisons with malicious gloss. 
Were I that thing for which I pass, that traitor, 
A goodly outside I had sure reserved, 
Had drawn the coverings thick and double round me, 
Been calm and chary of my utterance ; 
But being conscious of the innocence 
Of my intent, my uncorrupted will, 
I gave way to my humours, to my passion : 
Bold were my words, because mv deed^ were not. 
Now every planless measure, chance event, 
The threat of rage, the vaunt of joy and triumph, 
And all the May- games of a heart o'erflowing, 
Will they connect, and weave them all together 
Into one web of treason ; all will be plan, 
My eye ne'er absent from the far-off mark, 
Step tracing step, each step a politic progress ; 
And out of all they'll fabricate a charge 
So specious, that I must myself stand dumb. 
I am caught in my own net, and only force, 
Nought but a sudden rent can liberate me. 

[Pauses again 
How else ! since that the heart's unbiass'd instinct 
Impell'd me to the daring deed, which now 
Necessity, self-preservation, orders. 
Stern is the on-look of Necessity, 
Not without shudder may a human hand 
Grasp the mysterious urn of destiny. 
My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom : 



296 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I. 

Once suffer'd to escape from its safe corner 
Within the heart, its nursery and birth-place, 
Sent forth into the Foreign, it belongs 
For ever to those sly malicious powers 
Whom never art of man conciliated. 

[Paces in agitation through the chamber, then pauses, and, 
after the pause, breaks out again into audible soliloquy 
What is thy enterprise? thy aim? thy object? 
Hast honestly confess'd it to thyself? 
Power seated on a quiet throne thou'dst shake, 
Power on an ancient consecrated throne, 
Strong in possession, founded in all custom ; 
Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots 
Fix'd to the people's pious nursery-faith. 
This, this will be no strife of strength with strength. 
That fear'd I not. I brave each combatant, 
Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye, 
Who, full himself of courage, kindles courage 
In me too. 'Tis a foe invisible 
The which I fear — a fearful enemy, 
Which in the human heart opposes me, 
By its coward fear alone made fearful to me. 
Not that, which full of life, instinct with power, 
Makes known its present being ; that is not 
The true, the perilously formidable. 
no ! it is the common, the quite common, 
The thing of an eternal yesterday. 
What ever was, and evermore returns, 
Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 'twas sterling ! 
For of the wholly common is man made, 
And custom is his nurse ! Woe then to them, 
Who lay irreverent hands upon his old 
House furniture, the dear inheritance 
From his forefathers ! For time consecrates ; 
And what is grey with age becomes religion. 
Be in possession, and thou hast the right, 
And sacred will the many guard it for thee ! 

[To the Page, who here enters 
The Swedish officer ? — Well, let him enter. 

[The Page exit, Wallenstktx fixes his eye in deep 
thought on the door. 



SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 297 

Yet is it pure — as yet ! — the crime has come 
Not o'er this threshold yet — so slender is 
The boundary that divideth life's two paths. 

Scene V. 

Wallenstetn and Weangel. 

wallenstein [after having fixed a searching look on him) 
Your name is Wrangel ? 

WEANGEL. 

Gustave Wrangel, General 
Of the Sudermanian Blues. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It was a Wrangel 
Who injured me materially at Stralsund, 
And by his brave resistance was the cause 
Of the opposition which that sea-port made. 

WRANGEL. 

It was the doing of the element 

With which you fought, my Lord ! and not my merit. 

The Baltic Neptune did assert his freedom : 

The sea and land, it seem'd, were not to serve 

One and the same. 

[_ WALLENSTEIN. 

You pluck'd the Admiral's hat from off my head. 

WEANGEL. 

I come to place a diadem thereon.] 

wallenstein (makes the motion for him to take a seat, and 
seats himself). 

And where are your credentials ? 
Come you provided with full powers, Sir General ? 

WEANGEL. 

There are so many scruples yet to solve 

wallenstein (having read the credentials). 
An able letter ! — Ay — he is a prudent 
Intelligent master whom you serve, Sir General ! 
The Chancellor writes me, that he but fulfils 
His late departed Sovereign's own idea 
In helping me to the Bohemian crown. 



298 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN [.ACT L 

WRANGEL. 

He says the truth. Our great King, now in heaven, 

Did ever deem most highly of your Grace's 

Pre-eminent sense and military genius ; 

And always the commanding Intellect, 

He said, should have command, and he the King. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes, he might say it safely. — General Wrangel, 

[Taking his hand affectioiuUely 
Come, fair and open. Trust me, I was always 
A Swede at heart. Eh ! that did you experience 
Both in Silesia and at Nuremberg ; 
I had you often in my power, and let you 
Always slip out by some back door or other. 
Tis this for which the Court can ne'er forgive me, 
Which drives me to this present step : and since 
Our interests so run in one direction, 
E'en let us have a thorough confidence 
Each in the other. 

WRANGEL. 

Confidence will come 
Has each but only first security. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Chancellor still, I see, does not quite trust me ; 
And, I confess — the game does not lie wholly 
To my advantage. Without doubt he thinks, 
If I can play false with the Emperor, 
Who is my sovereign, I can do the like 
With the enemy, and that the one too were 
Sooner to be forgiven me than the other. 
Is not this your opinion too, Sir General ? 

WRANGEL. 

I have here a duty merely, no opinion. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Emperor hath urged me to the uttermost : 

I can no longer honourably serve him. 

For my security, in self-defence, 

I take this hard step, which m.y conscience blames 

WRANttEL, 

That I believe. So far would no one go 

Who was not forced to it. [After a pause. 



SC. V ] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 299 

What may have impell'd 
Your princely Highness in this wise to act 
Toward your Sovereign Lord and Emperor, 
Beseems not us to expound or criticise. 
The Swede is fighting for his good old cause, 
With his good sword and conscience. This concurrence, 
This opportunity, is in our favour, 
And all advantages in war are lawful. 
We take what offers without questioning ; 
And if all have its due and just proportions 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Of what then are ye doubting ? Of my will ? 

Or of my power ? I pledged me to the Chancellor, 

Would he trust me with sixteen thousand men, 

That I would instantly go over to them 

With eighteen thousand of the Emperor's troops. 

WEANGEL. 

Your Grace is known to be a mighty war-chief, 
To be a second Attila and Pyrrhus. 
'Tis talked of still with fresh astonishment, 
How some years past, beyond all human faith, 
You call'd an army forth, like a creation : 
But yet 

WALLENSTEIN. 

But yet ? 

WRANGEL. 

But still the Chancellor thinks, 
It might yet be an easier thing from nothing 
To call forth sixty thousand men of battle, 
Than to persuade one sixtieth part of them— 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What now ? Out with it, friend ? 

WEANGEL. 

To break their oaths, 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And he thinks so ? He judges like a Swede, 
And like a Protestant. You Lutherans 
Fight for your Bible. You are interested 
About the cause ; and with your hearts you follow 
Your banners. Among you, whoe'er deserts 



300 



THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. {ACT t 



To the enemy, hath broken covenant 

With two Lords at one time. We've no such fancies. 

WRANGEL. 

Great God in Heaven ! Have then the people here 
No house and home, no fireside, no altar ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I will explain that to you, how it stands : — 

The Austrian has a country, ay, and loves it, 

And has good cause to love it — but this army, 

That calls itself the Imperial, this that houses 

Here in Bohemia, this has none — no country ; 

This is an outcast of all foreign lands, 

Unclaim'd by town or tribe, to whom belongs 

Nothing, except the universal sun. 

And this Bohemian land for which we fight 

£ Loves not the master whom the chance of war, 

Not its own choice or will, hath given to it. 

Men murmur at the oppression of their conscience, 

And power hath only awed but not appeased them 

A glowing and avenging mem'ry lives 

Of cruel deeds committed on these plains ; 

How can the son forget that here his father 

Was hunted by the blood-hound to the mass ? 

A people thus oppress 'd must still be feared, 

Whether they suffer or avenge their wrongs.] 

WRANGEL 

But then the Nobles and the Officers '? 
Such a desertion, such a felony, 
It is without example, my Lord Duke, 
In the world's history. 

WALLENSTEIN 

They are all mine — 
Mine unconditionally — mine on all terms. 
Not me, your own eyes you must trust. 

[He gives him the paper containing the written oath 
Wrangel reads it through, and, having read it, lay* 
it on the table, remaining silent. 

So then? 
Now comprehend you ? 



SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 301 

WRANGEL. 

Comprehend who can ! 
My Lord Duke, I will let the mask drop — yes ! 
I Ve full powers for a final settlement. 
The Rhinegrave stands but four days' march from here 
With fifteen thousand men, and only waits 
For orders to proceed and join your army. 
Those orders I give out, immediately 
We're compromised. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What asks the Chancellor ? 
wrangel (considerately). 
Twelve regiments, every man a Swede — my head 
The warranty — and all might prove at last 
Only false play — — 

wallenstein (starting). 
Sir Swede ! 
wrangel (calmly proceeding). 

Am therefore forced 
T' insist thereon, that he do formally, 
Irrevocably break with the Emperor, 
Else not a Swede is trusted to Duke Friedland. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Come, brief, and open ! What is the demand ? 

WRANGEL. 

That he forthwith disarm the Spanish regiments 
Attached to the Emp'ror, that he seize on Prague, 
And to the Swedes give up that city, with 
The strong pass Egra. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

That is much indeed ! 
Prague ! — Egra's granted — but — but Prague ! — 'Twon't da 
I give you ev'ry security 

Which you may ask of me in common reason — 
But Prague — Bohemia — these, Sir General, 
I can myself protect. 

WRANGEL. 

We doubt it not. 
But 'tis not the protection that is now 
Our sole concern. We want security, 



302 THE DEATH OF WALI.ENSTEIN. [ACT I 

That we shall not expend our men and money 
All to no purpose. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Tis but reasonable. 

WBANGEL. 

And till we are indemnified, so long 
Stays Prague in pledge. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Then trust you us so little ? 
weangel (rising). 
The Swede, if he would treat well with the German, 
Must keep a sharp look-out. We have been call'd 
Over the Baltic, we have saved the empire 
From ruin — with our best blood have we sealed 
The liberty of faith, and gospel truth. 
But now already is the benefaction 
No longer felt, the load alone is felt. — 
Ye look askance with evil eye upon us, 
As foreigners, intruders in the empire, 
And would fain send us, with some paltry sum 
Of money, home again to our old forests. 
No, no ! my Lord Duke ! no ! — it never was 
For Judas' pay, for chinking gold and silver, 
That we did leave our King by the Great Stone* 
No, not for gold and silver have there bled 
So many of our Swedish Nobles — neither 
Will we, with empty laurels for our payment, 
Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens 
Will we remain upon the soil, the which 
Our Monarch conquer 'd for himself, and died. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Help to keep down the common enemy, 

A.nd the fair border land must needs be yours. 

WEANGEL. 

But when the common enemy lies vanquish'd, 
Who knits together our new friendship then? 
We know, Duke Friedland ! though perhaps the Swede 

* A great stone near Lutzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body of 
their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the battle in which 
he lost his life. 



80. V.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 303 

Ought not t have known it, that you carry on 

Secret negociations with the Saxons. 

Who is our warranty, that we are not 

The sacrifices in those articles 

Which 'tis thought needful to conceal from us ? 

wallenstein (rises). 
Think you of something better, Gustave Wrangel ! 
Of Prague no more. 

wrangel. 
Here my commission ends. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Surrender up to you my capital ! 

Far liever would I face about, and step 

Back to my Emperor. 

WRANGEL. 

If time yet permits — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

That lies with me, even now, at any hour. 

WRANGEL. 

Some days ago, perhaps. To-day, no longer ; 
No longer since Sesina's been a prisoner. 

[Wallenstein is struck, and silenced. 
My Lord Duke, hear me — We believe that you 
At present do mean honourably by us. 
Since yesterday we're sure of that — and now 
This paper warrants for the troops, there's nothing 
Stands in the way of our full confidence. 
Prague shall not part us. Hear ! The Chancellor 
Contents himself with Altstadt ; to your Grace 
He gives up Ratschin and the narrow side. 
But Egra above all must open to us, 
Ere we can think of any junction. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You, 
You therefore must I trust, and not you me ? 
I will consider of your proposition. 

WRANGEL. 

I must entreat, that your consideration 
Occupy not too long a time. Already 
Has this negociation, my Lord Duke ! 



S04 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I 

Crept on into the second year. If nothing 
Is settled this time, will the Chancellor 
Consider it as broken off for ever. 

WALLEN STEIN. 

Ye press me hard. A measure such as this, 
Ought to be thought of. 

WRANGEL 

Ay ! but think of this too, 
That sudden action only can procure it 
Success — think first of this, your Highness. 

[Exit Wrangel 

Scene VI. 
Wallenstein, Terzky, and Illo (re-enter). 

ILLO. 

Is't all right? 

TERZKY. 

Are you compromised ? 

ILLO. 

This Swede 
Went smiling from you. Yes ! you're compromised. 

wallenstein. 
As yet is nothing settled : and (well weighed) 
I feel myself inclined to leave it so. 

TERZKY. 

How? What is that? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Come on me what will come, 
The doing evil to avoid an evil 
Cannot be good ! 

TERZKY. 

Nay, but bethink you, Duke. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

To live upon the mercy of these Swedes ! 

Of these proud-hearted Swedes ! — I could not bear it 

ILLO. 

Goest thou as fugitive, as mendicant? 

Bringest thou not more to them than thou receivest ? 



S \nt ] TILE DEATH OF WALLEN8TE1N. 305 

QwALLENSTETN. 

How fared it with the brave and royal Bourbon 
Who sold himself unto his country's foes, 
And pierced the bosom of his father-land ? 
Curses were his reward, and men's abhorrence 
Avenged th' unnatural and revolting deed. 

TLLO. 

Is that thy case ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

True faith, I tell thee, 
Must ever be the dearest friend of man : 
His nature prompts him to assert its rights. 
The enmity of sects, the rage of parties, 
Long cherish'd envy, jealousy, — unite ; 
And all the struggling elements of evil 
Suspend their conflict, and together league 
In one alliance 'gainst their common foe— 
The savage beast that breaks into the fold, 
Where men repose in confidence and peace. 
For vain were man's own prudence to protect him. 
'Tis only in the forehead nature plants 
The watchful eye — the back, without defence, 
Must find its shield in man's fidelity. 

TERZKY. 

Think not more meanly of thyself than do 

Thy foes, who stretch their hands with joy to greet thee 

Less scrupulous far was the Imperial Charles, 

The powerful head of this illustrious house ; 

With open arms he gave the Bourbon welcome ; 

For still by policy the world is ruled.] 

Scene VII. 
To these enter the Countess Terzky- 

WALLENSTEIN. 

W ho sent for you ? There is no business here 
For women. 

COUNTESS. 

I am come to bid you joy. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Use thy authority, Terzky ; bid her go. 



306 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ KCT L 

COUNTESS. 

X3ome I perhaps too early ? I hope not. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Set not this tongue upon me, I entreat you : 
You know it is the weapon that destroys me. 
I am routed, if a woman but attack me : 
I cannot traffic in the trade of words 
With that unreasoning sex. 

COUNTESS. 

T had already 
Given the Bohemians a king. 

wallenstein (sarcastically). 

They have one, 
In consequence, no doubt. 

countess (to the others). 

Ha ! what new scruplo < 
teezky. 
The Duke will not. 

countess. 
He will not what he must ! 

ILLO. 

It lies with you now. Try. For I am silenced. 
When folks begin to talk to me of conscience, 
And of fidelity. 

countess. 

How ? then, when all 
Lay in the far-off distance, when the road 
Stretch 'd out before thine eyes interminably, 
Then hadst thou courage and resolve ; and now, 
Now that the dream is being realized, 
The purpose ripe, the issue ascertain'd, 
Dost thou begin to play the dastard now ? 
Plann'd merely, 'tis a common felony ; 
Accomplish'd, an immortal undertaking : 
And with success comes pardon hand in hand ; 
For all event is God's arbitrement. 

servant (enters). 
The Colonel Piccolomini. 

countess (hastily). 
— Must wait 



S'J. VTJ.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 807 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I cannot see him now. Another time. 

SEKVANT. 

But for two minutes he entreats an audience : 
Of the most urgent nature is his business. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Who knows what he may bring us ! I will hear him 

countess (laughs). 
Urgent for him, no doubt ? but thou may'st wait. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What is it? 

COUNTESS 

Thou shalt be inform'd hereafter 
First let the Swede and thee be compromised. 

[Exit Servant 

WALLENSTEIN. 

If there were yet a choice ! if yet some milder 
Way of escape were possible — I still 
Will choose it, and avoid the last extreme. 

COUNTESS. 

Desirest thou nothing further? Such a way 

Lies still before thee. Send this Wrangel off. 

Forget thou thy old hopes, cast far away 

All thy past life ; determine to commence 

A new one. Virtue hath her heroes too, 

As well as fame and fortune. — To Vienna 

Hence — to the Emperor — kneel before the throne ; 

Take a full coffer with thee — say aloud, 

Thou didst but wish to prove thy fealty ; 

Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede 

ILLO. 

For that too 'tis too late. They know too much ; 
He would but bear his own head to the block. 

COUNTESS. 

I fear not that. They have not evidence 

To attaint him legally, and they avoid 

The avowal of an arbitrary power. 

They'll let the Duke resign without disturbance, 

I see how all will end. The King of Hungary 

X 2 



308 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN *A'OT I 

Makes his appearance, and 'twill of itself 

Be understood, that then the Duke retires. 

There will not want a formal declaration : 

The young King will administer the oath 

To the whole army ; and so all returns 

To the old position. On some morrow morning 

The Duke departs ; and now 'tis stir and bustle 

Within his castles. He will hunt, and build ; 

Superintend his horses' pedigrees, 

Creates himself a court, gives golden keys, 

And introduceth strictest ceremony 

In fine proportions, and nice etiquette; 

Keeps open table with high cheer : in brief, 

Commenceth mighty King — in miniature. 

And while he prudently demean s himself, 

And gives himself no actual importance, 

He will be let appear whate'er he likes : 

And who dares doubt, that Friedland will appear 

A mighty Prince to his last dying hour ? 

Well now, what then ? Duke Friedland is as others, 

A fire-new Noble, whom the war hath raised 

To price and currency, a Jonah's gourd, 

An over-night creation of court-favour, 

Which with an undistinguishable ease 

Makes Baron or makes Prince. 

wallenstein (in extreme agitation). 

Take her away. 
Let in the young Count Piccolomini. 

COUNTESS. 

Art thou in earnest ? I entreat thee ! Canst thou 

Consent to bear thyself to thy own grave, 

So ignominiously to be dried up ? 

Thy life, that arrogated such an height 

To end in such a nothing ! To be nothing, 

When one was always nothing, is an evil 

That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil ; 

But to become a nothing, having been 

wallenstein (starts up in violent agitation}, 
Show me a way out of this stifling crowd, 
Ye powers of Aidance ! Show me such a way 



SO. VII. j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTFJN. 309 

As I am capable of going. I 

Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler; 

I cannot warm by thinking ; cannot say 

To the good luck that turns her back upon me. 

Magnanimously ; " Go ; I need thee not." 

Cease I to work, I am annihilated. 

Dangers nor sacrifices will I shun, 

If so I may avoid the last extreme ; 

But ere I sink down into nothingness, 

Leave off so little, who began so great, 

Ere that the world confuses me with those 

Poor wretches, whom a day creates and crumbles, 

This age and after ages * speak my name 

With hate and dread ; and Friedland be redemption 

For each accursed deed. 

COUNTESS. 

What is there here, then, 
So against nature ? Help me to perceive it ! 
O let not Superstition's nightly goblins 
Subdue thy clear bright spirit ! Art thou bid 
To murder ? — with abhorr'd, accursed poniard, 
To violate the breasts that nourish 'd thee ? 
That were against our nature, that might aptly 
Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken t. 
Yet not a few, and for a meaner object, 
Have ventured even this, ay, and perform'd it. 
What is there in thy case so black and monstrous ? 
Thou art accused of treason — whether with 
Or without justice is not now the question — 
Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly 
Of the power which thou possessest— Friedland ! Duke I 
Tell me where lives that thing so meek and tame, 
That doth not all his living faculties 

* Could I have hazarded such a Germanism, as the use of the word after* 
world, for posterity, — " Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen Namen " — 
might have been rendered with more literal fidelity : — Let world and after- 
world speak out my name, etc. 

+ I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a 
literal translation of this line, 

werth 
Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen. 



810 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I. 

Put forth in preservation of his life ? 
What deed so daring, which necessity 
And desperation will not sanctify ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me ; 

He loved me ; he esteem'd me ; I was placed 

The nearest to his heart. Full many a time 

We like familiar friends, both at one table, 

Have banqueted together. He and I — 

And the young kings themselves held me the bason 

Wherewith to wash me — and is't come to this ? 

COUNTESS. 

So faithfully preservest thou each small favour, 

And hast no memory for contumelies ? 

Must I remind thee, how at Regensburg 

This man repaid thy faithful services ? 

All ranks and all conditions in the empire 

Thou hadst wronged, to make him great, — hadst loaded 012 

thee, 
On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world. 
No friend existed for thee in all Germany, 
And why ? because thou hadst existed only 
For the Emperor. To the Emperor alone 
Clung Friedland in that storm which gather'd round him 
At Regensburg in the Diet — and he dropp'd thee ! 
He let thee fall ! he let thee fall a victim 
To the Bavarian, to that insolent ! 
Deposed, stript bare of all thy dignity 
And power, amid the taunting of thy foes, 
Thou wert let drop into obscurity. — 
Say not, the restoration of thy honour 
Has made atonement for that first injustice. 
No honest good- will was it that replaced thee ; 
The law of hard necessity replaced thee, 
Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Not to their good wishes, that is certain 
Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted 
For this high office ; and if I abuse it. 
I shall therein abuse no confidence. 



60. VII. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 311 

COUNTESS. 

Affection ! confidence ! — they needed thee. 

Necessity, impetuous remonstrant ! 

Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy, 

Is served, who'll have the thing and not the symbol. 

Ever seeks out the greatest and the best, 

And at the rudder places him, e'en though 

She had been forced to take him from the rabble — 

She, this Necessity, it was that placed thee 

In this high office ; it was she that gave thee 

Thy letters patent of inauguration. 

For, to the uttermost moment that they can, 

This race still help themselves at cheapest rate 

With slavish souls, with puppets ! At the approach 

Of extreme peril, when a hollow image 

Is found a hollow image and no more, 

Then falls the power into the mighty hands 

Of Nature, of the spirit giant-born, 

Who listens only to himself, knows nothing 

Of stipulations, duties, reverences, 

And, like the emancipated force of fire, 

Unmaster'd scorches, ere it reaches them, 

Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Tis true ! they saw me always as I am — 
Always ! I did not cheat them in the bargaiu. 
I never held it worth my pains to hide 
The bold all-grasping habit of my soul. 

COUNTESS 

Nay rather - thou hast ever shown thyself 

A formidable man, without restraint ; 

Hast exercised the full prerogatives 

Of thy impetuous nature, which had been 

Once granted to thee. Therefore, Duke, not thou 

Who hast still remained consistent with thyself, 

But they are in the wrong, who fearing thee, 

Entrusted such a power in hand they fear'd. 

For, by the laws of Spirit, in the right 

Is every individual character 

That acts in strict consistence with itself 



31*2 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT I 

Self contradiction is the only wrong. 

Wert thou another being, then, when thou 

Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire, 

And sword, and desolation, through the Circles 

Of Germany, the universal scourge, 

Didst mock all ordinances of the empire, 

The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst, 

Trampledst to earth each rank, each magistracy, 

All to extend thy Sultan's domination ? 

Then was the time to break thee in, to curb 

Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance. 

But no, the Emperor felt no touch of conscience ; 

What served him pleased him, and without a murmur 

He stamp'd his broad seal on these lawless deeds. 

What at that time was right, because thou didst it 

For him, to day is all at once become 

Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed 

Against him. — most flimsy superstition ! 

wallenstein (rising). 
I never saw it in this light before, 
'Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated 
Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly. 
And even this prince's mantle, which I wear, 
I owe to what were services to him, 
But most high misdemeanors 'gainst the empire. 

COUNTESS. 

Then betwixt thee and him (confess it Friedland !) 

The point can be no more of right and duty, 

Only of power and the opportunity. 

That opportunity, lo ! it comes yonder 

Approaching with swift steeds ; then with a swing 

Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat, 

Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy opponent 

Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest 

Of the now empty seat. The moment comes ; 

It is already here, when thou must write 

The absolute total of thy life's vast sum. 

The constellations stand victorious o'er thee, 

The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, 

And tell thee, " Now's the time ! " The starry courses 



&!. VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 315 

Hast thou thy life-long measured to no purpose ? 

The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings ? 

[Pointing to the different objects in the room. 

The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven, 

Hast pictured on these walls, and all around thee 

In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed 

These seven presiding Lords of Destiny — 

For toys ? Is all this preparation nothing ? 

Is there no marrow in this hollow art, 

That even to thyself it doth avail 

Nothing, and has no influence over thee 

In the great moment of decision ? 

wallenstein (during this last speech walks up and down 
with inward struggles, labouring with passion ; stops sud 
denty, stands still, then interrupting the Countess) 

Send Wrangel to me — I will instantly 

Despatch three couriers 

illo (hurrying out). 

God in heaven be praised ! 
wallenstein. 

It is his evil genius and mine. 

Our evil genius ! It chastises him 

Through me, the instrument of his ambition ; 

And I expect no less, than that Revenge 

E'en now is whetting for my breast the poniard. 

Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope 

To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime 

Has, in the moment of its perpetration, 

Its own avenging angel— dark misgiving, 

An ominous sinking at the inmost heart. 

He can no longer trust me — Then no longer 

Can I retreat— so come that which must come. — 

Still destiny preserves its due relations, 

The heart within us is its absolute 

Vicegerent. [To Terzky 

Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangfel 

To my state-cabinet. — Myself will speak to 

The couriers. — And despatch immediately 

A servant fur Octavio Piccolomini. 

[To the Countess, who cannot conceal her triumph 

No exultation ! woman, triumph not ! 



814 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT [1 

For jealous are the Powers of Destiny 
Joy premature, and shouts ere victory, 
Encroach upon their rights and privileges. 
We sow the seed, and they the growth determine. 

[While he is making his exit the curtain drops. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. 
Scene, as in the preceding Act. 
Wallenstein, Octavio Piccolomini. 
wallenstein (coming forward in conversation). 
He sends me word from Linz, that he lies sick ; 
But I have sure intelligence, that he 
Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Gallas. 
Secure them both, and send them to me hither. 
Remember, thou takest on thee the command 
Of those same Spanish regiments, — constantly 
Make preparation, and be never ready ; 
And if they urge thee to draw out against me, 
Still answer yes, and stand as thou wert fetter'd. 
I know, that it is doing thee a service 
To keep thee out of action in this business. 
Thou lovest to linger on in fair appearances ; 
Steps of extremity are not thy province, 
Therefore have I sought out this part for thee. 
Thou wilt this time be of most service to me 
By thy inertness. The mean time, if fortune 
Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know 
What is to do. 

Enter Max. Piccolomini. 
Now go, Octavio. 
This night must thou be off, take my own horses : 
Him here I keep with me — make short farewell- - 
Trust me, I think, we all shall meet again 
In joy and thriving fortunes. 

octavio [to his son). 

I shall see you 
Yet ere I go. 



80.11.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, 815 

Scene IT. 
Wallenstein, Max. Piccolomik: 

max. (advances to him). 
My General ! 

wallenstein. 

That I am no longer, if 
Thou stylest thyself the Emperor's officer. 

MAX. 

Then thou wilt leave the army, General ? 

wallenstein. 
I have renounced the service of the Emperor. 

MAX. 

And thou wilt leave the army ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Kather hope I 
To bind it nearer still and faster to me. 

[He seats him self. 
Yes, Max., I have delay'd to open it to thee, 
Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike. 
Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily 
The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is 
To exercise the single apprehension 
Where the sums square in proof; 
But where it happens, that of two sure evils 
One must be taken, where the heart not wholly 
Brings itself back from out the strife of duties. 
There 'tis a blessing to have no election, 
And blank necessity is grace and favour. 
— This is now present : do not look behind thee, — 
It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards ! 
Think not ! judge not ! prepare thyself to act ! 
The Court — it hath determined on my ruin, 
Therefore I will be beforehand with them. 
We'll join the Swedes — right gallant fellows are they, 
And our good friends. 

\He stops himself, expecting Piccolomint's answe? 



316 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [A3T II 

I have ta'en thee by surprise. Answer me not. 

I grant thee time to recollect thyself. 

[He rises, retires at the bach of the stage. Max. re- 
mains for a long time motionless , in a trance of 
excessive anguish. At his first motion Wallen 
stein returns, and places himself before him. 

max. 
My General, this day thou makest me 
Of age to speak in my own right and person, 
For till this day I have been spared the trouble 
To find out my own road. Thee have I follow'd 
With most implicit unconditional faith, 
Sure of the right path if I follow'd thee. 
To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer 
Me to myself, and forcest me to make 
Election between thee and my own heart. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Soft cradled thee thy Fortune till to day ; 
Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport, 
Indulge all lovely instincts, act for ever 
With undivided heart. It can remain 
No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads 
Start from each other. Duties strive with duties. 
Thou must needs choose thy party in the war 
Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and kim 
Who is thy Emperor. 

MAX. 

War ! is that the name ? 
War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence. 
Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is 
Is that a good war, which against the Emperor 
Thou wagest with the Emperor's own army? 
O God of heaven ! what a change is this. 
Beseems it me to offer such persuasion 
To thee, who like the fix'd star of the pole 
Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean ? 
O ! what a rent thou makest in my heart ! 
The ingrain'd instinct of old reverence, 
The holy habit of obediency, 
Must I pluck live asunder from thy name ? 



SC. 11 1 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 817 

Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me — 
It always was as a god looking upon me ! 
Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed • 
The senses still are in thy bonds, although, 
Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Max. hear me 

MAX. 

! do it not, I pray thee, do it not ! 
There is a pure and noble soul within thee, 
Knows not of this unblest unlucky doing. 
Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only 
Which hath polluted thee — -and innocence, 
It will not let itself be driven away 
From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not, 
Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce 
All human creatures to disloyalty 
Against the nobleness of their own nature. 
'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief, 
Which holdeth nothing noble in free will, 
And trusts itself to impotence alone, 
Made powerful only in an unknown power. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The world will judge me sternly, I expect it. 
Already have I said to my own self 
All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids 
The extreme, can he by going round avoid it ? 
But here there is no choice. Yes — I must use 
Or suffer violence— so stands the case, 
There remains nothing possible but that. 

max. 
O that is never possible for thee ! 
Tis the last desperate resource of those 
Cheap souls, to whom their honour, their good name 
Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep, 
Which having staked and lost, they stake themselves 
In the mad rage of gaming Thou art rich, 
And glorious ; with an unpolluted heart 
Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest 1 
But he, who once hath acted infamy, 
Doos nothing more in this world. 



318 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II 

wallenstein (grasps his hand). 

Calmly > Max. ! 
Much that is great and excellent will we 
Perform together yet. And if we only 
Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon 
Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended. 
Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now, 
That yet was deeply sullied in the winning. 
To the evil spirit doth the earth belong, 
Not to the good. All, that the powers divine 
Send from above, are universal blessings : 
Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes, 
But never yet was man enrich'd by them : 
In the:.r eternal realm no property 
Is to be struggled for — all there is general. 
The jewel, the all-valued gold we win 
From the deceiving Powers, depraved in nature, 
That dwell beneath the day and blessed sun-light. 
Not without sacrifices are they render 'd 
Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth 
That e'er retired unsullied from their service. 

MAX. 

Whate'er is human, to the human being 

Do I allow — and to the vehement 

And striving spirit readily I pardon 

The excess of action ; but to thee, my General ! 

Above all others make I large concession. 

For thou must move a world, and be the master — 

He kills thee, who condemns thee to inaction. 

So be it then ! maintain thee in thy post 

By violence. Resist the Emperor, 

And if it must be, force with force repel : 

I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it. 

But not — not to the traitor — yes ! — the word 

Is spoken out 

Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon. 
That is no mere excess ! that is no error 
Of human nature —that is wholly different, 
O that is black, black as the pit of hell ! 

[Wallenstein betrays a sudden agitatiwx 
Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it ? 



BC. II.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 3i^ 

turn back to thy duty. That thou canst, 

1 hold it certain. Send me to Vienna : 

I'll make thy peace for thee with the Emperor. 
He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He 
Shall see thee, Duke ! with my unclouded eye, 
And I bring back his confidence to thee. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It is too late ! Thou knowest not what has happen \i. 

MAX. 

Were it too late, and were things gone so far, 
That a crime only could prevent thy fall, 
Then — fall ! fall honourably, even as thou stood'st, 
Lose the command. Go from the stage of war. 
Thou canst with splendour do it — do it too 
With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others, 
At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee. 
My destiny I never part from thine. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It is too late ! Even now, while thou art losing 
Thy words, one after the other are the mile-stones 
Left fast behind by my post couriers, 
Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra. 

[Max. stands as convulsed, with a gesture and counte- 
nance expressing the most intense anguish. 
Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced. 
I cannot give assent to my own shame 
And ruin. Thou — no — thou canst not forsake me ! 
So let us do, what must be done, with dignity, 
With a firm step. What am I doing worse 
Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon, 
When he the legions led against his country, 
The which his country had delivered to him ? 
Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost, 
As I were, if I but disarm 'd myself. 
I trace out something in me of this spirit ; 
Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear. 

[Max. quits him abruptly. Wallenstein startled and 
overpowered, continues looking after him, and is still in 
this posture when Tekzky enters. 



8^0 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [aOT II 

Scene III. 
Wallenstein, Terzky 

TERZKY. 

Max. Piccolomini just left you ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 



He is already gone. 



Where is Wrangel ? 

TERZKY. 



WALLENSTEIN. 

In such a hurry ? 

TERZKY. 

It is as if the earth had swallow'd him. 

He had scarce left thee, when I went to seek him. 

I wish'd some words with him — but he was gone. 

How, when, and where, could no one tell me. Nay, 

I half believe it was the devil himself ; 

A human creature could not so at once 

Have vanish'd. 

illo (enters). 
Is it true that thou wilt send 
Octavio ? 

TERZKY. 

How, Octavio ! Whither send him ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He goes to Frauenburg, and will lead hither 
The Spanish and Italian regiments. 

ILLO. 

No! 
Nay, Hea en forbid ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And why should Heaven forbid ? 

ILLO. 

Him ! — that deceiver ! Wouldst thou trust to him 
The soldiery ? Him wilt thou let slip from thee. 
Now in the very instant that decides us 

TERZKY. 

Thou wilt not do this ! — No ! I pray thee, no ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yc are whimsical. 



SC III.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 321 

ILLO. 

but for this time, Duke, 
Yield to our warning ! Let him not depart 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And why should I not trust him only this time, 

Who have always trusted him ? What, then, has happen 'd, 

That I should lose my good opinion of him ? 

In complaisance to your whims, not my own, 

I must, forsooth, give up a rooted judgment. 

Think not I am a woman. Having trusted him 

E'en till to-day, to-day too will I trust him. 

TERZKY. 

Must it be he — he only ? Send another. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It must be he, whom I myself have chosen ; 
He is well fitted for the business. Therefore 
I gave it him. 

ILLO. 

Because he's an Italian — 
Therefore is he well fitted for the business ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I know you love them not — nor sire nor son — • 

Because that I esteem them, love them — visibly 

Esteem them, love them more than you and others, 

E'en as they merit. Therefore are they eye-blights, 

Thorns in your foot-path. But your jealousies, 

In what affect they me or my concerns ? 

Are they the worse to me because you hate them ? 

Love or hate one another as you will, 

I leave to each man his own moods and likings ; 

Yet know the worth of each of you to me. 

ILLO. 

Von Questenberg, while he was here, was always 
Lurking about with this Octavio. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It happen 'd with my knowledge and permission. 

ILLO. 

I know that secret messengers came to him 
From Gallas 



322 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN [kQ r . 

WALLENSTEIN. 

That's not true. 

ILLO. 

thou art blind, 
With thy deep-seeing eyes ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou wilt not shake 
My faith for me — my faith, which founds itself 
On the profoundest science. If 'tis false, 
Then the whole science of the stars is false : 
For know, I have a pledge from Fate itself, 
That he is the most faithful of my friends. 

ILLO. 

Hast thou a pledge, that this pledge is not false ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

There exist moments in the life of man, 

When he is nearer the great Soul of the world 

Than is man's custom, and possesses freely 

The power of questioning his destiny : 

And such a moment 'twas, when in the night 

Before the action in the plains of Lutzen, 

Leaning against a tree, thoughts crowding thoughts 

I look'd out far upon the ominous plain. 

My whole life, past and future, in this moment 

Before my mind's eye glided in procession, 

And to the destiny of the next morning 

The spirit, nll'd with anxious presentiment, 

Did knit the most removed futurity. 

Then said I also to myself, " So many 

Dost thou command. They follow all thy stars 

And as on some great number set their All 

Upon thy single head, and only man 

The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day 

Will come, when Destiny shall once more scatter 

All these in many a several direction : 

Few be they who will stand out faithful to thee." 

I yearn'd to know which one was faithfullest 

Of all, this camp included. Great Destiny, 

Give me a sign ! And he shall be the man, 

Who, on the approaching morning, comes the first 

To meet me with a token of his love: 



6C III ] THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 3 % 23 

And thinking this, I fell into a slumber. 

Then midmost in the battle was I led 

In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult i 

Then was my horse kill'd under me : 1 sank ; 

And over me away, all unconcernedly, 

Drove horse and rider — and thus trod to pieces 

I lay, and panted like a dying man ; 

Then seized me suddenly a saviour arm ; 

It was Octavio's — I awoke at once, 

'Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me. 

" My brother," said he, " do not ride to-day 

The dapple, as you're wont ; but mount the horse 

Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother ! 

In love to me. A strong dream warn'd me so." 

It was the swiftness of this horse that snatch'd me 

From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dragoons. 

My cousin rode the dapple on that day, 

And never more saw I or horse or rider. 

ILLO. 

That was a chance. 

wallenstein (significantly). 

There's no such thing as chance ; 
\_ And what to us seems merest accident 
Springs from the deepest source of destiny.] 
In brief, 'tis sign'd and seal'd that this Octavio 
Is my good angel — and now no word more. 

[He is retiring 

TERZKY. 

This is my comfort — Max. remains our hostage. 

ILLO. 

And he shall never stir from here alive. 

wallenstein (stops and turns himself round). 
Are ye not like the women, who for ever 
Only recur to their first word, although 
One had been talking reason by the hour ! 
Know, that the human being's thoughts and deeds 
Are not like ocean billows, Kindly moved. 
The inner world, his microcosmus, is 
The deep shaft, out of which they spring eternally. 
They grow by certain laws, like the tree's fruit — 
No juggling chance can metamorphose them, 

y 2 



824 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II, 

Have I the human kernel first examined ? 

Then I know, too, the future will and action. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. 

Chamber in the residence of Piccolomini. 

Octavio Piccolomini (attired for travelling), an Adjutant. 

[_ OCTAVIO 

Is the detachment here ? 

ADJUTANT 

It waits below. 

OCTAVIO. 

And are the soldiers trusty, Adjutant ? 

Say, from what regiment hast thou chosen them ? 

ADJUTANT. 

From Tiefenbach's 

OCTAVIO. 

That regiment is loyal, 
Keep them in silence in the inner court, 
Unseen by all, and when the signal peals 
Then close the doors, keep watch upon the house, 
And all ye meet be instantly arrested. [Exit Adjutant. 

I hope indeed I shall not need their service, 
So certain feel I of my well laid plans ; 
But when an empire's safety is at stake 
Twere better too much caution than too little.] 

Scene V. 
A Chamber in Piccolomini's Dwelling -House 
Octavio Piccolomini, Isolani, entering 
isolani. 
Here am I —Well ! who comes yet of the others? 

octavio (with an air of mystery). 
But, first, a word with you, Count Isolani. 

isolani (assuming the same air of mystery). 
Will it explode, ha ? — Is the Duke about 
To make the attempt? In me, friend, you may place 
Full confidence. — Nay, put me to the proof. 

OCTAVIO 

That may happen. 

ISOLANI 

Noble brother, I am 
Not one of those men who in words are valiant* 



SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 325 

Aiid when it comes to action skulk away. 
The Duke has acted towards me as a friend. 

God knows it is so ; and I owe him all 

He may rely on my fidelity. 

OCTAVIO. 

That will be seen hereafter. 

ISOLANI. 

Be on your guard, 
All think not as I think ; and there are many 
Who still hold with the Court — yes, and they say 
That those stolen signatures bind them to nothing, 

£ OCTAVIO. 

Indeed ! Pray name to me the chiefs that think so. 

ISOLANI. 

Plague upon them ! all the Germans think so ; 
Esterhazy, Kaunitz, Deodati, too, 
Insist upon obedience to the Court.] 

OCTAVIO. 

I am rejoiced to hear it. 

ISOLANI. 

You rejoice ! 

OCTAVIO. 

That the Emperor has yet such gallant servants, 
And loving friends. 

ISOLANI. 

Nay, jeer not, I entreat you. 
They are no such worthless fellows, I assure you. 

OCTAVIO. 

I am assured already. God forbid 

That I should jest! — In very serious earnest, 

I am rejoiced to see an honest cause 

So strong. 

ISOLANI. 

The Devil ! — what ! — why, what means this ? 
Are you not, then For what, then, am I here ? 

OCTAVIO. 

That you may make full declaration, whether 
You will be call'd the friend or enemy 
Of the Emperor. 

ISOLANI (ivith an air of defiance) 
That declaration, friend, 



3*26 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT tL 

I'll make to him in whom a right is placed 
To put that question to me. 

OCTAVIO. 

Whether, Count, 
That right is mine, this paper may instruct yoa< 

isolani (stammering). 
Why, — why — what! this is the Emperors hand and seal! 

[Reads 
" Whereas, the officers collectively 
Throughout our army will obey the orders 
Of the Lieutenant- General Piccolomini. 

As from ourselves." Hem! — Yes! so! — Yes! yes! — 

I — I give you joy, Lieutenant- General ! 

OCTAVIO. 

And you submit you to the order ? 

ISOLANI. 

But you have taken me so by surprise — 
Time for reflection one must have 

OCTAVIO. 



Two minutes. 



ISOLANI. 

My God ! But then the case is — 



OCTAVIO. 

Plain and simple. 
You must declare you, whether you determine 
To act a treason 'gainst your Lord and Sovereign, 
Or whether you will serve him faithfully. 

ISOLANI. 

Treason ! — My God ! — But who talks then of treason ? 

OCTAVIO. 

That is the case. The Prince-duke is a traitor — 
Means to lead over to the enemy 

The Emperor's army. — Now, Count ! — brief and full — 
Say, will you break your oath to the Emperor? 
Sell yourself to the enemy ? — Say, will you ? 

ISOLANI. 

What mean you ? I — I break my oath, d'ye say, 

To his Imperial Majesty? 

Did I say so ! — When, when have I said that? 



SC. V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 327 

OCTAVIO. 

You have not said it jet — not yet. This instant 
I wait to hear, Count, whether you will say it, 

ISOLANI. 

Ay ! that delights me now, that you yourself 
Bear witness for me that I never said so. 

OCTAVIO. 

And you renounce the Duke then ? 

ISOLANI. 

If he's planning 
Treason — why, treason breaks all bonds asunder. 

OCTAVIO. 

And are determined, too, to fight against him? 

ISOLANI. 

Ee has done me service — but if he's a villain, 
Perdition seize him ! — All scores are rubb'd off. 

OCTAVIO. 

I am rejoiced that you are so well disposed. 
This night, break off in the utmost secrecy 
With all the light-arm'd troops — it must appear 
As came the order from the Duke himself. 
At Frauenburg's the place of rendezvous ; 
There will Count Gallas give you further orders. 

ISOLANI. 

It shall be done.— But you'll remember me 

With the Emperor — how well-disposed you found me. 

OCTAVIO. 

I will not fail to mention it honourably. 

[Exit Isolani. A Servant enters 
What, Colonel Butler ! — Show him up. 
isolani (returning). 
Forgive me too my bearish ways, old father ! 
Lord God ! how should I know, then, what a great 
Person I had before me. 

OCTAVIO. 

No excuses ! 

ISOLANI. 

I am a merry lad, and if at time 

A rash word might escape me gainst the Court 

Amidst my wine — You know no harm was meant [Exit 



828 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II. 

OCTAVIO. 

You need not be uneasy on that score. 
That has succeeded. Fortune favour us 
With all the others only but as much ! 

Scene VI. 

OCTAYIO PlCCOLOMINI, BUTLER. 
BUTLER. 

At your command Lieutenant-general. 

OCTAVIO. 

Welcome, as honour'd friend and visitor. 

BUTLER. 

You do me too much honour. 

octavio (after both have seated themselves). 
You have not 
Return'd the advances which I made you yesterday — 
Misunderstood them as mere empty forms. 
That wish proceeded from my heart— I was 
. In earnest with you — for 'tis now a time 
In which the honest should unite most closely. 

BUTLER. 

Tis only the like-minded can unite. 

OCTAVIO. 

True ! and I name all honest men like-minded. 

I never charge a man but with those acts 

To which his character deliberately 

Impels him ; for alas ! the violence 

Of blind misunderstandings often thrust 

The very best of us from the right track. 

You came through Frauenburg. Did the Count Galla? 

Say nothing to you ? Tell me. He's my friend 

BUTLER. 

His words were lost on me. 

OCTAVIO. 

It grieves me sorely, 
To hear it : for his counsel was most wise. 
I had myself the like to offer. 

BUTLER 

Spare 
Yourself the trouble — me th' embarrassment, 
To have deserved so ill your good opinion. 



SC. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 829 

OCTAVIO. 

The time is precious — let us talk openly. 
You know how matters stand here. Wallenstein 
Meditates treason — I can tell you further, 
He has committed treason ; but few hours 
Have past, since he a covenant concluded 
With the enemy. The messengers are now 
Full on their way to Egra and to Prague. 
To-morrow he intends to lead us over 
To the enemy. But he deceives himself; 
For Prudence wakes — The Emperor has still 
Many and faithful friends hese, and they stand 
In closest union, mighty though unseen. 
This manifesto sentences the Duke — 
Eecalls the obedience of the army from him, 
And summons all the loyal, all the honest, 
To join and recognise in me their leader. 
Choose — will you share with us an honest cause? 
Or with the evil share an evil lot ? 
butler (rises). 
His lot is mine. 

OCTAVIO. 

Is that your last resolve ? 

BUTLEE. 

It is. 

OCTAVIO. 

Nay, but bethink you, Colonel Butler ! 
As yet you have time. Within my faithful breast 
That rashly utter'd word remains interr'd. 
Recall it, Butler ! choose a better party : 
You have not chosen the right one. 
butlee [going). 

Any other 
Commands for me, Lieu tenant- General ? 

OCTAVIO. 

See your white hairs : recall that word ! 

BUTLEE. 

Farewell ! 

OCTAVIO. 

What ' Would you draw this good and gallant sword 
In such a cause ? Into a curse would you 



330 THE DEATH CF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT II. 

Transform the gratitude which you have earn'd 
By forty years' fidelity from Austria ? 

butler (laughing with bitterness). 
Gratitude from the House of Austria ! [He is going. 
octavio (permits him to go as far as the door, then calls after 

him). 
Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

What wish you ? 

OCTAVIO. 

How was't with the Count ? 

BUTLER 

Count? what? 

octavio (coldly). 
The title that you wish'd, I mean. 
butler (starts in sudden passion). 
Hell and damnation ! 

octavio (coldly). 

You petition'd for it — 
Arid your petition was repelled — Was it so ? 

butler. 
Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunish'd. 
Draw ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Nay ! your sword to 'ts sheath ! and tell me calmly, 
How all that happen'd. I will not refuse you 
Your satisfaction afterwards. Calmly, Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

Be the whole world acquainted with the weakness 

For which I never can forgive myself. 

Lieutenant- General ! Yes ; I have ambition. 

Ne'er was I able to endure contempt. 

It stung me to the quick, that birth and title 

Should have more weight than merit has in the army. 

I would fain not be meaner than my equal, 

So in an evil hour I let myself 

Be tempted to that measure. It was folly ! 

But yet so hard a penance it des-erved not. 

It might have been refused ; but wherefore barb 

And venom the refusal with contempt ? 



SC. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLEN3TETN. 33 4 

Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn 
The grey-hair 'd man, the faithful vet; ran? 
Why to the baseness of his parentage 
Refer him with such cruel roughness, only 
Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself? 
But nature gives a sting e'en to the worm 
Which wanton Power treads on in sport and insult 

OCTAVIO. 

You must have been calumniated. Guess you 
The enemy who did you this ill service ? 

BTJTLEK. 

Be't who it will — a most low-hearted scoundrel ! 
Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard ; 
Some young squire of some ancient family, 
In whose light I may stand ; some envious knave, 
Stung to his soul by my fair selfearn'd honours ! 

OCTAVIO. 

But tell me, did the Duke approve that measure ? 

BUTLER. 

Himself impell'd me to it, used his interest 
In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship. 

OCTAVIO. 

Ay ? are you sure of that ? 

BUTLER. 

I read the letter. 

OCTAVIO. 

And so did I — but the contents were different. 

[Butler is suddenly struck. 
By chance I'm in possession of that letter — 
Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you. 

[He gives him the letter 

BUTLER. 

Ha : what is this ? 

OCTAVIO. 

I fear me, Colonel Butler, 
An infamous game have they been playing with you. 
The Duke, you say, impell'd you to this measure ? 
Now, in this letter, talks he in contempt 
Concerning you ; counsels the minister 



&82 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN, ["ACT II 

To give sound chastisement to your conceit, 
For so he calls it. 

[Butler reads through the letter; his knees tremble^ 
he seizes a chair, and sinks down in it. 
You have no enemy, no persecutor ; 
There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe 
The insult you received to the Duke only. 
His aim is clear and palpable. He wish'd 
To tear you from your Emperor : he hoped 
To gain from your revenge what he well knew 
{What your long-tried fidelity convinced him) 
He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason. 
A blind tool would he make you, in contempt 
Use you, as means of most abandoned ends. 
He has gained his point. Too well has he succeeded 
In luring you away from that good path 
On which you had been journeying forty years ! 

butler (Jiis voice trembling). 
Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive me? 

OCTAVIO. 

More than forgive you. He would fain compensate 
For that affront, and most unmerited grievance 
Sustain'd by a deserving gallant veteran. 
From his free impulse he confirms the present, 
Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose. 
The regiment, which you now command, is yours. 

[Butler attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labours 
inwardly with violent emotions ; tries to speak, and can- 
not. At length he takes his sword from the belt, and 
offers it to Piccolomini. 

OCTAVIO. 

What wish you ? Recollect yourself, friend. 
butler. 

Take it 

OCTAVIO. 

But to what purpose? Calm yourself. 

BUTLER. 

take it ! 
I am no longer worthy of this sword. 

OCTAVIO. 

Receive it then anew, from my hands — and 



SC VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 333 

Wear it with honour for the right cause ever. 

BUTLEB. 

Perjure myself to such a gracious Sovereign ! 

OCTAVIO. 

You'll make amends. Quick ! break off from the Duke : 

BUTLEE. 

Break off from him ! 

OCTAVIO. 

What now ? Bethink thyself. 
butlek (no longer governing his emotion). 
Only break off from him ? He dies ! he dies ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Come after me to Frauenburg, where now 
All who are loyal, are assembling under 
Counts Altringer and Gallas. Many others 
I've brought to a remembrance of their duty : 
This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen. 
butlee (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps 
up to octavio ivith resolved countenance). 
Count Piccolomini ! dare that man speak 
Of honour to you, who once broke his troth 

OCTAVIO. 

He, who repents so deeply of it, dares. 

butlee. 
Then leave me here upon my word of honour ! 

OCTAVIO. 

What's your design ? 

BUTLEE. 

Leave me and my regiment. 

OCTAVIO. 

I have full confidence in you. But tell me 
What are you brooding ? 

BUTLEE. 

That the deed will tell you 
Ask me no more at present. Trust to me. 
Ye may trust safely. By the living God 
Ye give him over, not to his good angel ! 
Farewell. [Exit Butler 

seevant (enters with a billet). 
A stranger left it, and is gone. 
The Prince-Duke's horses wait for you below. 

[Exit Ser 



334 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT H. 

octavio [reads). 
" Be sure make haste ! Your faithful Isolan." 
— that I had but left this town behind me. 
To split upon a rock so near the haven ! — 
Away ! This is no longer a safe place for me ! 
Where can my son be tarrying ! 



Scene VII. 

Octavio and Max. Piccolomini. 

max. enters almost in a state of derangement, from extreme 
agitation; his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and 
he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a dis- 
tance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of 
compassion. He paces with long strides through the 
chamber, then stands still again, and at last throws him- 
self into a chair, staring vacantly at the object directly 
before him. 

octavio (advances to him). 
i am going off, my son. 

[Receiving no answer, he takes his hand 
My son, farewell. 

MAX. 

Farewell. 

octavio. 
Thou wilt soon follow me ? 

MAX. 

I follow thee? 
Thy way is crooked — it is not my way. 

[Octavio drops his hand, and starts back 
O, hadst thou been but simple and sincere, 
Ne'er had it come to this — all had stood otherwise. 
He had not done that foul and horrible deed, 
The virtuous had retain 'd their influence o'er him : 
He had not fallen into the snares of villains. 
Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice 
Didst creep behind him, lurking for thy prey ! 
O, unblest falsehood ! Mother of all evil ! 
Thou misery-making demon, it is thou 
That sink'st us in perdition. Simple truth, 
Sustainer of the world, had saved us all ! 



SC. VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 835 

Father, I will not, I can not excuse thee ! 
Wallenstein has deceived me — 0, most foully ! 
But thou hast acted not much better. 

OCTAVIO. 

Son! 
My son, ah ! I forgive thy agony ! 
max. (rises and contemplates his father with looks of suspicion)* 
Was't possible ? hadst thou the heart, my father, 
Hadst thou the heart to drive it to such lengths, 
With cold premeditated purpose ? Thou — 
Hadst thou the heart to wish to see him guilty 
Rather than saved ? Thou risest by his fall. 
Octavio, 'twill not please me. 

OCTAVIO. 

God in heaven i 

MAX. 

O, woe is me ! sure I have changed my nature. 
How comes suspicion here — in the free soul? 
Hope, confidence, belief, are gone ; for all 
Lied to me, all that I e'er loved or honoured. 
No, no ! not all ! She — she yet lives for me, 
And she is true, and open as the heavens ! 
Deceit is everywhere, hypocrisy, 
Murder, and poisoning, treason, perjury : 
The single holy spot is our love, 
The only unprofaned in human nature. 

OCTAVIO. 

Max. ! — we will go together. 'Twill be better. 

MAX. 

What ? ere I've taken a last parting leave, 
The very last — no, never ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Spare thyself 
The pang of necessary separation. 
Come with me ! Come, my son! 

[Attempts to take him with him 

MAX. 

No ! as sure as God lives, no ! 

octavio (more urgently). 
Come with me, I command thee ! I, thy father. 



386 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN. [ACT II 



MAX. 

Command ire what is human. I stay here 

OCTAVIO 

Max. ! in the Emperor's name I bid thee come 

MAX. 

No Emperor has power to prescribe 

Laws to the heart ; and wouldst thou wish to rob me 

Of the sole blessing which my fate has left me, 

Her sympathy ? Must then a cruel deed 

Be done with cruelty ? The unalterable 

Shall I perform ignobly — steal away, 

With stealthy coward flight forsake her? No ! 

She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish, 

Hear the complaints of the disparted soul, 

And weep tears o'er me. Oh ! the human race 

Have steely souls — but she is as an angel. 

From the black deadly madness of despair 

Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words 

Of comfort, plaining, loose this, pang of death ! 

OCTAVIO. 

Thou wilt not tear thyself away ; thou canst not. 
O, come, my son ! I bid thee save thy virtue. 

MAX. 

Squander not thou thy words in vain. 
The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it, 

octavio (trembling, and losing all self-command)* 
Max. ! Max. ! if that most damned thing could be, 
If thou — my son — my own blood — (dare I think it ?) 
Do sell thyself to him, the infamous, 
Do stamp this brand upon our noble house, 
Then shall the world behold the horrible deed 
And in unnatural combat shall the steel 
Of the son trickle with the father's blood 

MAX. 

hadst thou always better thought of men, 
Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion ! 
Unholy miserable doubt ! To him 
Nothing on earth remains unwrench'd and firm, 
Who has no faith 



SC VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 3Ht 

OCTAVTO. 

And if I trust thy heart, 
Will it be always in thy power to follow it ? 

MAX. 

The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpowered — as little 
Will Wallen stein be able to o'erpower it. 

OCTAVTO. 

0, Max. ! I see thee never more again ! 

MAX. 

Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me. 

OCTAVIO. 

I go to Frauenberg — the Pappenheimers 

I leave thee here, the Lothrings too ; Tsokana 

And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee. 

They love thee, and are faithful to their oath, 

And will far rather fall in gallant contest 

Than leave their rightful leader, and their honour. 

MAX. 

Rely on this, I either leave my life 

In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen 

OCTAVTO. 

Farewell, my son ! 

MAX. 

Farewell ! 

OCTAVIO, 

How ! not one look 
Of filial love ? No grasp of the hand at parting ? 
It is a bloody war to which we are going, 
And the event uncertain and in darkness. 
So used we not to part — it was not so ! 
Is it then true ? I have a son no longer ? 

[Max. falls into his arms, they hold each other for a long 
time in a speechless emhrace % then go away at different 

(The Curtain drops.) 



S38 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. [ACT IIL 

ACT III. 

Scene I. 

A Chamber in the House of the Duchess of Friedland. 

Countess Teezky, Thekla, Lady Neubkunn (the two Latter 
sit at the same table at work). 

countess [watching them from the opposite side). 
So you have nothing to ask me — nothing ? 
I have been waiting for a word from you. 
And could you then endure in all this time 
Not once to speak his name ? 

[Thekla remaining silent, the Countess rises and ad- 
vances to her. 

Why, how comes this ! 
Perhaps I am already grown superfluous, 
And other ways exist, besides through me ? 
Confess it to me, Thekla : have you seen him ? 

THEKLA. 

To-day and yesterday I have not seen him. 

COUNTESS. 

And not heard from him, either ? Come, be open. 

THEKLA. 

No syllable. 

COUNTESS. 

And still you are so calm? 

THEKLA. 

I am. 

COUNTESS. 

May't please you, leave us, Lady Neubrunn. 

[Exit Lad? Neubrunn 

Scene II. 

The Countess, Thekla. 

countess. 
It does not please me, Princess, that he holds 
Himself so still, exactly at this time. 

thekla. 
Exactly at this time ? 



3C II. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 339 

COUNTESS. 

He now knows all : 
Twere now the moment to declare himself. 

THEKLA. 

Tf I'm to understand you, speak less darkly. 

COUNTESS. 

Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us. 

Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart 

Is now no more in nonage : for you love, 

And boldness dwells with love — that you have proved. 

Your nature moulds itself upon your father's 

More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you 

Hear, what were too much for her fortitude. 

THEKLA. 

Enough : no further preface, I entreat you. 
At once, out with it ! Be it what it may, 
It is not possible that it should torture me 
More than this introduction. What have you 
To say to me ? Tell me the whole, and briefly ! 

COUNTESS. 

You'll not be frighten'd 

THEKLA. 

Name it, I entreat you. 

COUNTESS. 

It lies within your power to do your father 
A weighty service 

THEKLA. 

Lies within my power ? 

COUNTESS. 

Max. Piccolomini loves you. You can link him 
Indissolubly to your father. 

THEKLA. 

I? 

What need of me for that ? And is he not 
Already link'd to him ? 

COUNTESS. 

He was. 

THEKLA. 

And wherefore 
Should he not be so now — not be so always ? 

z 2 



840 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. FACT 111 



COUNTESS 

He cleaves to the Emperor too. 

THEKLA. 



Not more than duty 



And honour may demand of him. 

COUNTESS. 

We ask 
Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honour. 
Duty and honour ! 

Those are ambiguous words with many meanings 
You should interpret them for him : his love 
Should be the sole definer of his honour. 

THEKLA. 

How? 

COUNTESS. 

The Emperor or you must he renounce. 

THEKLA. 

He will accompany my father gladly 

In his retirement. From himself you heard, 

How much he wish'd to lay aside the sword. 

COUNTESS. 

He must not lay the sword aside, we mean; 
He must unsheath it in your father's cause. 

THEEXA. 

He'll spend with gladness and alacrity 

His life, his heart's blood in my father's cause, 

If shame or injury be intended him. 

COUNTESS, 

You will not understand me. Well, hear then :«— 
Your father has fallen off from the Emperor, 
And is about to join the enemy 
With the whole soldiery 

THEKLA. 

Alas, my mother ! 

COUNTESS. 

There needs a great example to draw on 
The army after him. The Piccolomini 
Possess the love and reverence of the troops ; 
They govern all opinions, and wherever 



ML II.] THE DEATH )F WALLENSTEIN. 341 

They lead the way, none hesitate to follow. 
The son secures the father to our interests — 
You've much in your hands at this moment. 

THEKLA. 

Ah, 

My miserable mother ! what a death-stroke 
Awaits thee ! — No ! she never will survive it. 

COUNTESS. 

She will accommodate her soul to that 

Which is and must be. I do know your mother: 

The far-off future weighs upon her heart 

With torture of anxiety ; but is it 

Unalterably, actually present, 

She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly. 

THEKLA. 

my foreboding bosom ! Even now, 
E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror ! 
And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp ; 

1 knew it well — no sooner had I enter'd, 
An heavy ominous presentiment 

Reveal 'd to me that spirits of death were hovering 
Over my happy fortune. But why think I 
First of myself ? My mother ! my mother ! 

COUNTESS. 

Calm yourself ! Break not out in vain lamenting ! 
Preserve you for your father the firm friend, 
And for yourself the lover, all will yet 
Prove good and fortunate. 

THEKLA. 

Prove good ! What good? 
Must we not part ? — part ne'er to meet again ? 

COUNTESS. 

He parts not from you ! He cannot part from you. 

THEEXA. 

Alas for his sore anguish ! It will rend 
His heart asunder. 

COUNTESS. 

If indeed he loves you, 
His resolution will be speedily taken. 



342 THE DEATH OF WALLENS1EIN. fACT TU. 

THEKLA. 

His resolution will be speedily taken — 
O do not doubt of that ! A resolution ! 
Does there remain one to be taken ? 

COUNTESS. 

Hush! 

Collect yourself ! I hear your mother coming. 

THEKLA. 

How shall I bear to see her ? 

COUNTESS. 

Collect yourself. 

Scene III. 
To them enter the Duchess. 

duchess (to the countess). 
Who was here, sister ? I heard some one talking, 
And passionately too. 

COUNTESS. 

Nay ! there was no one. 

DUCHESS. 

I am grown so timorous, every trifling noise 
Scatters my spirits, and announces to me 
The footstep of some messenger of evil. 
And you can tell me, sister, what the event is ? 
Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure, 
And send the horse-regiments to the Cardinal ? 
Tell me, has he dismiss'd Von Questenberg 
With a favourable answer ? 

COUNTESS. 

No, he has not. 

DUCHESS. 

Alas ! then all is lost ! I see it coming, 
The worst that can come ! Yes, they will depose him ; 
The accursed business of the Regensburg diet 
Will all be acted o'er again ! 

COUNTESS. 

No ! never ! 
Make your heart easy, sister, as to that. 

[Thekla, in extreme agitation, throws herself upon h#i 
mother, and enfolds her in her arms, weeping 



SC III.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 843 

DUCHESS. 

Yes, my poor child ! 

Thou too hast lost a most affectionate godmother 

In the Empress. O that stern unbending man ! 

In this unhappy marriage what have I 

Not suffer'd, not endured ? For even as if 

I had been link'd on to some wheel of fire 

That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous onward, 

I have pass'd a life of frights and horrors with him, 

And ever to the brink of some abyss 

With dizzy headlong violence he bears me. 

Nay, do not weep, my child. Let not my sufferings 

Presignify unhappiness to thee, 

Nor blacken with their shade the fate that waits thee. 

There lives no second Friedland : thou, my child, 

Hast not to fear thy mother's destiny. 

THEKLA. 

let us supplicate him, dearest mother! 
Quick ! quick ! here's no abiding place for us. 
Here every coming hour broods into life 
Some new affrightful monster. 

DUCHESS. 

Thou wilt share 
An easier, calmer lot, my child ! We too, 

1 and thy father, witnessed happy days. 
Still think I with delight of those first years, 
When he was making progress with glad effort. 
When his ambition was a genial fire, 

Not that consuming flame which now it is. 

The Emperor loved him, trusted him : and all 

He undertook could not but be successful. 

But since that ill-starr'd day at Eegensburg, 

Which plunged him headlong from his dignity, 

A gloomy uncompanionable spirit, 

Unsteady and suspicious, has possess'd him. 

His quiet mind forsook him, and no longer 

Did he yield up himself in joy and faith 

To his old luck, and individual power ; 

But thenceforth turn'd his heart and best affection*; 

All to those cloudy sciences, which never 

Have yet made happy him who follow'd them. 



344 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IIL 

COUNTESS 

You see it, sister ! as your eyes permit you 

But surely this is not the conversation 

To pass the time in which we are waiting for him. 

You know he will be soon here. Would you have hiiD 

Find her in this condition ? 

DUCHESS. 

Come, my child ! 
Come wipe away thy tears, and show thy father 
A cheerful countenance. See, the tie-knot here 
Is off — this hair must not hang so dishevell'd. 
Come, dearest ! dry thy tears up. They deform 
Thy gentle eye. — Well now — what was I saying ? 
Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini 
Is a most noble and deserving gentleman. 

COUNTESS. 

That is he, sister ! 
thekla (to the countess, with marks of great oppression of 

spirits). 
Aunt, you will excuse me ? (Is going). 

COUNTESS. 

But whither ? See, your father comes 

THEKLA 

I cannot see him now 

COUNTESS. 

Nay, but bethink you. 

THEKLA. 

Believe me, I cannot sustain his presence. 

COUNTESS. 

But he will miss you, will ask after you. 

DUCHESS. 

What now ? Why is she going ? 

COUNTESS. 

She's not well. 
duchess (anxiously). 
What ails then my beloved child ? 

[Both follow the Princess, and endeavour to detain 
her. During this Wallenstein appears , engaged 
in conversation with Illo. 



60 IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 345 

Scene IV. 

Wallenstepn, Illo, Countess, Duchess, Theki.a 

wallenstein. 
All quiet in the camp ? 

ILLO. 

It is all quiet. 

wallen STEIN. 
In a few hours may couriers come from Prague 
With tidings, that this capital is ours. 
Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops 
Assembled in this town make known the measure 
And its result together. In such cases 
Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost 
Still leads the herd. An imitative creature 
Is man. The troops at Prague conceive no other, 
Than. that the Pilsen army has gone through 
The forms of homage to us ; and in Pilsen 
They shall swear fealty to us, because 
The example has been given them by Prague. 
Butler, you tell me, has declared himself? 

ILLO. 

At his own bidding, unsolicited, 

He came to offer you himself and regiment. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I find we must not give implicit credence 

To every warning voice that makes itself 

Be listen'd to in the heart. To hold us back, 

Oft does the lying Spirit counterfeit 

The voice of Truth and inward Revelation, 

Scattering false oracles. And thus have I 

To intreat forgiveness, for that secretly 

I've wrong'd this honourable gallant man, 

This Butler : for a feeling, of the which 

I am not master {fear I would not call it), 

Creeps o'er me instantly, with sense of shuddering, 

At his approach, and stops love's joyous motion. 

And this same man, against whom I am warn'd, 

This honest man is he, who reaches to me 

The first pledge of my fortune. 



$1$ THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT Tit 

ILLO. 

And doubt not 
That his example will win over to you 
The best men in the army, 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Go and send 
Isolani hither. Send him immediately. 
He is under recent obligations to me : 
With him will I commence the trial. Go. [Exit Illo 

wallenstein (turns himself round to the females). 
Lo, there the mother with the darling daughter 
For once we'll have an interval of rest — 
Come ! my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour 
In the beloved circle of my family. 

COUNTESS. 

Tis long since we've been thus together, brother. 

wallenstein (to the countess aside). 
Can she sustain the news ? Is she prepared ? 

COUNTESS. 

Not yet. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Come here, my sweet girl ! Seat thee by me, 
For there is a good spirit on thy lips. 
Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill ; 
She says a voice of melody dwells in thee, 
Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice 
Will drive away from me the evil demon 
That beats his black wings close above my head. 

DUCHESS. 

Where is thy lute, my daughter ? Let thy father 
Hear some small trial of thy skill. 

THEKLA. 

My mother ! 
I— 

DUCHESS. 

Trembling ? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer 
Thy father. 

THEKLA. 

my mother ! I — I cannot. 



SC IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 347 

COUNTESS. 

How, what is that, niece ? 

thekla (to the countess). 
O spare me — sing— now — in this sore anxiety, 
Of the o'erburthen'd soul — to sing to him, 
Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong 
Into her grave. 

DUCHESS. 

How, Thekla ! Humoursome ! 
What \ shall thy father have express'd a wish 
In vain ? 

COUNTESS. 

Here is the lute. 

THEKLA. 

My God ! how can I — 
[The orchestra plays. During the ritornello Thekla expresses 
in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings ; 
and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts 
herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument 
down, and retires abruptly. 

DUCHESS. 

My child ! O she is ill— 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What ails the maiden ? 
Say, is she often so ? 

COUNTESS. 

Since then herself 
Has now betray'd it, I too must no longer 
Conceal it. 



What? 



WALLENSTEIN. 
COUNTESS. 

She loves him ! 



WALLENSTEIN 

Loves him ! Whom? 

COUNTESS. 

Max. does she love ! Max. Piccolomini. 

Hast thou ne'er noticed it? Nor yet my sister? 



848 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT III, 

DUCHESS. 

Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart ? 

God's blessing on thee, my sweet child ! Thou need'st 

Never take shame upon thee for thy choice, 

COUNTESS. 

This journey, if 'twere not thy aim, ascribe it 

To thine own self. Thou shouldst have chosen another 

To have attended her. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And does he know it? 

COUNTESS. 

Yes, and he hopes to win her ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Hopes to win her ! 
Is the boy mad ? 

COUNTESS. 

Well — hear it from themselves. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland's daughter! 

Ay ? — The thought pleases me. 

The young man has no grovelling spirit. 

COUNTESS. 

Since 
Such and such constant favour you have shown him — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He chooses finally to be my heir. 
And true it is, I love the youth ; yea, honour him. 
But must he therefore be my daughter's husband? 
Is it daughters only ? Is it only children 
That we must show our favour by ? 

DUCHESS. 

His noble disposition and his manners — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Win him my heart, but not my daughter. 
duchess. 

Then 
His rank, his ancestors — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ancestors ! What ? 
He is a subject, and my son-in-law 
I will seek out upon the thrones of Europe. 



SC TV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 849 

DUCHESS. 

dearest Albrecht ! Climb we not too high 
Lest we should fall too low. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What ! have I paid 
A price so heavy to ascend this eminence, 
And jut out high above the common herd, 
Only to close the mighty part I play 
In Life's great drama, with a common kinsman ? 
Have I for this — 

[Stops suddenly, repressing himself. 
She is the only thing 
That will remain behind of me on earth ; 
And I will see a crown around her head, 
Or die in the attempt to place it there. 

1 hazard all — all ! and for this alone, 
To lift her into greatness — 

Yea, in this moment, in the which we are speaking — 

[He recollects himself. 
And I must now, like a soft-hearted father, 
Couple together in good peasant-fashion 
The pair, that chance to suit each other's liking — 
And I must do it now, even now, when I 
Am stretching out the wreath that is to twine 
My full accomplish'd work — no ! she is the jewel, 
Which I have treasured long, my last, my noblest, 
And 'tis my purpose not to let her from me 
For less than a king's sceptre. 

DUCHESS. 

O my husband ! 
You're ever building, building to the clouds, 
Still building higher, and still higher building, 
And ne'er reflect, that the poor narrow basis 
Cannot sustain the giddy tottering column . 

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS). 

Have you announced the place of residence 
Which I have destined for her ? 

COUNTESS. 

No ! not yet. 
Twere better you yourself disclosed it to her 



850 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. [ACT TO 

DUCHESS. 

How ? Do we not return to Carinthia then ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

No 

DUCHESS, 

And to no other of your lands or seats ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You would not be secure there. 

DUCHESS. 

Not secure 
In the Emperor's realms, beneath the Emperor's 
Protection ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Friedland's wife may be permitted 
No longer to hope that, 

DUCHESS. 

God in heaven ! 
And have you brought it even to this ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

In Holland 
You'll find protection. 

DUCHESS. 

In a Lutheran country ? 
What ? And you send us into Lutheran countries ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Duke Franz of Lauenburg conducts you thither. 

DUCHESS. 

Duke Franz of Lauenburg ? 

The ally of Sweden, the Emperor s enemy. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Emperor's enemies are mine no longer. 

duchess (casting a look of terror on the duke and the 

countess). 
Is it then true ? It is. You are degraded ? 
Deposed from the command ? God in heaven ! 

countess (aside to the duke). 
Leave her in this belief. Thou seest she cannot 
Support the real truth. 



tO. VI. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 351 

Scene V. 
To them enter Count Tekzky. 

COUNTESS. 

— Terzky ! 
What ails him ? What an image of affright ! 
He looks as he had seen a ghost. 

tekzky (leading wallenstein aside). 
Is it thy command that all the Croats — 
wallenstein. 

Mine! 

TEKZKY 

We are betray'd. 

wallenstein. 
What? 

TEKZKY. 

They are off! This night 
The Jagers likewise— all the villages 
In the whole round are empty. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Isolani ! 

TEKZKY. 

Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I? 

TEKZKY. 

No ! Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodati? 
They are vanish'd both of them. 

Scene VI. 
To them enter Illo. 
illo. 
Has Terzky toid thee ? 

TEKZKY. 

He knows all. 

ILLO 

And likewise 
That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz, 
Kolalto, Pain, have forsaken thee. 

TEKZKY 

Damnation ! 



852 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT HL 

wallenstein (winks at them). 
Hush! 
countess (who has been watching them anxiously from the 

distance and now advances to them). 
Terzky ! Heaven ! What is it ? What has happen'd ? 

wallenstein (scarcely suppressing his emotions). 
Nothing ! let us be gone ! 

terzkt [following him). 

Theresa, it is nothing. 
countess (holding him back). 
Nothing ? Do I not see that all the life-blood 
Has left yjur cheeks — look you not like a ghost? 
That even my brother but affects a calmness ? 

page (enters). 
An Aide-de-Camp inquires for the Count Terzky. 

[Teezky follows the Page 
wallenstein. 
Go, hear his business. 

[To Illo. 
This could not have happen'd 
So unsuspected without mutiny. 
Who was on guard at the gates ? 

ILLO. 

'Twas Tiefenbach. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Let Tiefenbach leave guard without delay, 
And Terzky's gienadiers relieve him. 
illo (is going). 

Stop ! 
Hast thou heard aught of Butler ? 

ILLO. 

Him I met : 
He will be here himself immediately. 
Butler remains unshaken. 

[Illo exit. Wallenstein is following him. 

COUNTESS. 

Let him not leave thee, sister ! go, detain him ! 
There's some misfortune. 

duchess (clinging to him). 

Gracious Heaven ! What is it? 



SG VIT.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 353 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Be tranquil ! leave me, sister ! dearest wife ! 
We are in camp, and this is nought unusual ; 
Here storm and sunshine follow one another 
Wicn rapid interchanges. These fierce spirits 
Champ the curb angrily, and never yet 
Did quiet bless the temples of the leader. 
If I am to stay, go you. The plaints of women 
111 suit the scene where men must act. 

[He is going : Teezky returns. 

TERZKY. 

Remain here. From this window must we see it. 

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS). 

Sister, retire,' 

COUNTESS. 

No — never. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis my will. 
tebzky {leads the countess aside, and drawing her attention 
to the duchess). 
Theresa ! 

duchess. 
Sister, come ! since he commands it. 

Scene VII. 

WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY. 

wallenstein (stepping to the window). 
What now, then ? 

TERZKY. 

There are strange movements among all the troops, 
And no one knows the cause. Mysteriously, 
With gloomy silentness, the several corps 
Marshal themselves, each under its own banners. 
Tiefenbach's corps make threat 'ning movements ; only 
The Pappenheimers still remain aloof 
In their own quarters, and let no one enter. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Does Piccolomini appear among them ? 

TERZKY. 

We are seeking him : he is nowhere to be met with. 

A A 



354 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [*<,! III. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What did the Aide-de-Camp deliver to you ? 

TE RZKY. 

My regiments had despatch'd him ; yet once mors 

They swear fidelity to thee, and wait 

The shout for onset, all prepared, and eager 

WALLENSTEIN. 

But whence arose this larum in the camp ? 

It should have been kept secret from the army, 

Till fortune had decided for us at Prague. 

TERZKY. 

that thou hadst believed me ! Tester evening 
Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker, 
That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen. 
Thou gavest him thy own horses to flee from thee 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The old tune still ! Now, once for all, no more 
Of this suspicion— it is doting folly. 

TERZKY. 

Thou didst confide in Isolani too ; 

And lo ! he was the first that did desert thee. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It was but yesterday I rescued him 

From abject wretchedness. Let that go by ; 

1 never reckon'd yet on gratitude. 

And wherein doth he wrong in going from me ? 

He follows still the god whom all his life 

He has worshipp'd at the gaming-table. With 

My fortune, and my seeming destiny, 

He made the bond, and broke it not with me. 

I am but the ship in which his hopes were stow'd, 

And with the which, well-pleased and confident, 

He traversed the open sea ; now he beholds it 

In eminent jeopardy among the coast-rocks, 

And hurries to preserve his wares. As light 

As the free bird from the hospitable twig 

Where it had nested, he flies off from me : 

No human tie is snapp'd betwixt us two 

Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived 

Who seeks a heart in the unthinking mail. 



6C. VIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 355 

Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life 
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead. 
Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth : 
Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure 
Moves the light fluids lightly ; but no soul 
Warmeth the inner frame. 

TEBZKY. 

Yet, would I rather 
Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrow'd one . 

Scene VIII. 
Wallenstein, Terzky, Illo. 
illo {who enters agitated with rage). 
Treason and mutiny ! 

TERZKY. 

And what further now? 

ILLO. 

Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave the orders, 
To go off guard — Mutinous villains t 

TERZKY. 

Well! 

WALLENSTEIN 

What followed? 

ILLO. 

They refused obedience to thein. 

TERZKY. 

Fire on them instantly ! Give out the order. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Gently ! what cause did they assign ? 

ILLO. 

No other, 
They said, had right to issue orders but 
Lieutenant-General Piccolomini. 

wallenstein (in a convulsion of agony). 
What? How is that? 

ILLO. 

He takes that office on him by commission, 
Under sign-manual of the Emperor. 

TERZKY. 

From the Emperor — hear'st thou, Duke ? 

AAti 



356 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT 111'. 

1LLO 

At his incitement 
The Generals made that stealthy flight — 

TERZKY. 

Duke ! hear'st thou ? 

ILLO. 

Caraffa too, and Montecuculi. 

Are missing, with six other Generals, 

All whom he had induced to follow him. 

This plot he has long had in writing by him 

From the Emperor ; but 'twas finally concluded, 

With all the detail of the operation, 

Some days ago with the Envoy Questenberg. 

[Wallenstein sinks doivn into a chair, and covers his face 

TERZKY. 

O hadst thou but believed me ! 

Scene IX. 

To them enter the Countess. 

countess. 

This suspense. 
This horrid fear — I can no longer bear it. 
For heaven's sake tell me what has taken place ? 

ILLO. 

The regiments are all falling off from us. 

TERZKY. 

Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor. 

COUNTESS. 

my foreboding ! 

[Rushes out of the room . 

TERZKY 

Hadst thou but believed me ! 
Now seest thou how the stars have lied to thee. 

wallenstein 
The stars lie not ; but we have here a work 
Wrought counter to the stars and destiny. 
The science is still honest : this false heart 
Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven 
On a divine law divination rests ; 
Where nature deviates from that law, and stumbles 



80. X.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 357 

Out of her limits, there all science errs. 

True I did not suspect ! Were it superstition 

Never by such suspicion t' have affronted 

The human form, may that time ne'er come 

In which I shame me of the infirmity. 

The wildest savage drinks not with the victim, 

Into whose breast he means to plunge the sword. 

This, this, Octavio, was no hero's deed : 

'Twas not thy prudence that did conquer mine ; 

A bad heart triumph'd o'er an honest one. 

No shield received the assassin stroke ; thou plungest 

Thy weapon on an unprotected breast — 

Against such weapons I am but a child. 

Scene X. 
To these enter Butler, 
terzky (meeting him). 
look there ! Butler ! Here we've still a friend ! 

WALLENSTEIN (meets him with outspread arms, and embrace* 
him with warmth). 
Come to my heart, old comrade ! Not the sun 
Looks out upon us more revivingly 
In the earliest month of spring, 
Than a friend's countenance in such an hour. 

BUTLER. 

My General: I come — 

wallenstein (leaning on butler's shoulder) 
Know'st thou already ? 
That old man has betray 'd me to the Emperor. 
What say'st thou ? Thirty years have we together 
Lived out, and held out, sharing joy and hardship. 
W T e have slept in one camp-bed, drunk from one glass, 
One morsel shared ! I lean'd myself on him, 
As now I lean me on thy faithful shoulder. 
And now in the very moment, when, all love, 
All confidence, my bosom beat to his, - 
He sees and takes the advantage, stabs the knife 
Slowly into my heart. 

[He hides his face on Butlers breast 



353 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT III. 

BUTLEE. 

Forget the false one. 
What is your present purpose ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Well remember \1 ! 
Courage, my soul ! I am still rich in friends, 
Still loved by Destiny; for in the moment 
That it unmasks the plotting hypocrite, 
It sends and proves to me one faithful heart. 
Of the hypocrite no more ! Think not, his loss 
Was that which struck the pang : do ! his treason 
Is that which strikes this pang ! No more of him ! 
Dear to my heart, and honour 'd were they both, 
And the young man — yes — he did truly love me, 
He — he — has not deceived me. But enough. 
Enough of this — swift counsel now beseems us. 
The Courier, whom Count Kinsky sent from Prague, 
I expect him every moment : and whatever 
He may bring with him, we must take good care 
To keep it from the mutineers. Quick then ! 
Despatch some messenger you can rely on 
To meet him, and conduct him to me. 

[Illo is going. 
butler (detaining him). 
My General, whom expect you then ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Courier 
Who brings me word of the event at Prague. 

butlee (hesitating). 
Hem! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And what now ? 

BUTLEE. 

You do not know it ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Well? 

BUTLEE. 

From what that larum in the camp arose ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

From what ? 



£ 0t £.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 859 



BUTLER. 

That Courier- 



wallenstein (with eager expectation). 
Well? 

BUTLER. 

Is already here 
terzkt and illo {at the same time). 
Already here ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

My Courier ? 

BUTLER. 

For some hours. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And I not know it ? 

BUTLER. 

The sentinels detain him 
In custody. 

illo {stamping with his foot). 
Damnation ! 

BUTLER. 

And his letter 
Was broken open, and is circulated 
Through the whole camp. 

WALLENSTEIN, 

You know what it contains ? 

BUTLER. 

Question me not ! 

TERZKY. 

Illo ! alas for us. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Hide nothing from me — I can hear the worst. 
Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely. 

BUTLER. 

Yes ! Prague is lost. And all the several regiments 

At Budweiss, Tabor, Braunau, Konigingratz, 

At Brunn and Znaym, have forsaken you, 

And ta'en the oaths of fealty anew 

To the Emperor. Yourself, with Kinsky, Terzky, 

And Illo have been sentenced. 

[Terzky and Illo express alarm and fury. Wal- 
lenstein remains firm and collected. 



800 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT 1H. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis decided! 
'Tis well ! I have received a sudden cure 
From all the pangs of doubt : with steady stream 
Once more my life-blood flows ! My soul's secure ! 
In the night only Friedland's stars can beam. 
Lingering irresolute, with fitful fears 
I drew the sword — 'twas with an inward strife, 
While yet the choice was mine. The murderous knife 
Is lifted for my heart ! Doubt disappears ! 
I fight now for my head and for my life. 

[Exit Wallenstein; the others follow him. 

Scene XI. 
countess terzkt (enters from a side room). 
I can endure no longer. No ! 

[Looks around her. 
Where are they ! 
No one is here. They leave me all alone, 
Alone in this sore anguish of suspense. 
And I must wear the outward show of calmne&s 
Before my sister, and shut in within me 
The pangs and agonies of my crowded bosom. 
It is not to be borne. If all should fail ; 
If — if he must go over to the Swedes, 
An empty-handed fugitive, and not 
As an ally, a covenanted equal, 
A proud commander with his army following ; 
If we must wander on from land to land, 
Like the Count Palatine, of fallen greatness 
An ignominious monument. But no ! 
That day I will not see ! And could himself 
Endure to sink so low, 1 would not bear 
To see him so low sunken. 

Scene XII. 
Countess, Duchess, Thekla. 
thekla {endeavouring to hold back the duchess) 
Dear mother, do stay here ! 

DUCHESS. 

No ! Here is yet 
Some frightful mystery that is hidden from rne. 



SO. XIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. x SGI 

Why does my sister shun me ? Don't I see her 
Full of suspense and anguish roam about 
From room to room ? Art thou not full of terror ? 
And what import these silent nods and gestures 
Which stealth wise thou exchangest with her ? 

THEKLA. 

Nothing : 
Nothing, dear mother ! 

duchess (to the countess). 

Sister, I will know. 
countess. 
What boots it now to hide it from her ? Sooner 
Or later she must learn to hear and bear it. 
'Tis not the time now to indulge infirmity ; 
Courage beseems us now, a heart collect, 
And exercise and previous discipline 
Of fortitude. One word, and over with it ! 
Sister, you are deluded. You believe 
The Duke has been deposed — the Duke is not 

Deposed — he is 

thekla (going to the countess). 

What ? do you wish to kill her ? 
countess. 

The Duke is 

thekla (throwing her arms round her mother). 

stand firm ! stand firm, my mother ! 
countess. 
Eevolted is the Duke ; he is preparing 
To join the enemy ; the army leave him, 
And all has fail'd. 

Scene XIII. 
A spacious Room in the Duke of Friedland's Palace. 
wallenstein (in armour). 
Thou hast gain'd thy point, Octavio ! Once more am I 
Almost as friendless as at Eegensburg. 
There I had nothing left me, but myself; 
But what one man can do, you have now experience, 
The twigs have you hew'd off, and here I stand 
A leafless trunk. But in the sap within 



362 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. [ACT in. 

Lives the creating power, and a new world 
May sprout forth from it. Once already have I 
Proved myself worth an army to you — I alone ! 
Before the Swedish strength your troops had melted ; 
Beside the Lech sank Tilly your last hope ; 
Into Bavaria, like a winter torrent, 
Did that Gustavus pour, and at Vienna 
In his own palace did the Emperor tremble. 
Soldiers were scarce, for still the multitude 
Follow the luck : all eyes were turn'd on me, 
Their helper in distress : the Emperor's pride 
Bow'd itself down before the man he had injured. 
'Twas I must rise, and with creative word 
Assemble forces in the desolate camps. 
I did it. Like a god of war, my name 
Went through the world. The drum was beat ; and, lo 
The plough, the workshop is forsaken, all 
Swarm to the old familiar long-loved banners ; 
And as the wood- choir rich in melody 
Assemble quick around the bird of wonder, 
When first his throat swells with his magic song, 
So did the warlike youth of Germany 
Crowd in around the image of my eagle. 
I feel myself the being that I was. 
It is the soul that builds itself a body, 
And Friedlands camp will not remain unfill'd. 
Lead then your thousands out to meet me — true ! 
They are accustom'd under me to conquer, 
But not against me. If the head and limbs 
Separate from each other, 'twill be soon 
Made manifest, in which the soul abode 
(illo and terzky enter.) 
Courage, friends ! courage ! we are still unvanquish'c 
1 feel my footing firm ; five regiments, Terzky, 
Are still our own, and Butler's gallant troops ; 
And an host of sixteen thousand Swedes to-morrov. 
I was not stronger when, nine years ago, 
I marched forth, with glad heart and high of hope, 
To conquer Germany for the Emperor. 



SJ. XV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 3C)3 

Scene XIV. 

Wallenstein, Illo, Tekzky. 

(To them enter Neumann, who leads Tekzky aside, and talks 

with him.) 

tekzky. 

What do they want ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What now ? 

TERZKY. 

Ten Cuirassiers 
From Pappenheim request leave to address you 
In the name of the regiment. 

wallenstein {hastily to neumann). 
Let them enter. 

[Exit Neumann. 
This 
May end in something. Mark you. They are still 
Doubtful, and may be won 

Scene XV. 
Wallenstein, Terzky, Illo, ten Cuirassiers (led by an An- 
spessade * , march up and arrange themselves, after the 
word of command, in one front before the Duke, and make 
their obeisance. He takes his hat off, and immediately 
covers himslf again). 

ANSPESSADE. 

Halt! Front! Present! 
wallenstein (after he has run through them with his eye, to 
the anspessade). 
I know thee well. Thou art out of Bruggen in Flanders : 
Thy name is Mercy 

ANSPESSADE. 

Henry Mercy 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou wert cut off on the march, surrounded by the Hes- 
sians, and didst fight thy way with an hundred and eighty 
men through their thousand. 

* Anspessade, in German Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a corporal, but 
above the sentinels. The German name implies that he is exempt frjEi 
mounting guard. 



3G4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. fACT III 

ANSPESSADE 

'Twas even so, General ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What reward hadst thou for this gallant exploit ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

That which I asked for : the honour to serve in this corps. 

wallenstein (turning to a second). 
Thou wert among the volunteers that seized and made 
booty of the Swedish battery at Altenburg. 
second cuirassier. 
Yes, General! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I forget no one with whom I have exchanged words. (A 
pause.) Who sends you? 

ANSPESSADE. 

Your noble regiment, the Cuirassiers of Piccolomini. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Why does not your colonel deliver in your request, accord- 
ing to the custom of service ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

Because we would first know whom we serve. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Begin your address. 

ANSPESSADE [giving the word of command). 
Shoulder your arms ! 

wallenstein {turning to a third). 
Thy name is Eisbeck ; Cologne is thy birth-place. 

THIRD CUIRASSIER. 

Risbeck of Cologne. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

It was thou that broughtest in the Swedish colonel, Dii- 
bald, prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg. 

THIRD CUIRASSIER 

It was not I, General. 

WALLENSTEIN 

Perfectly right! It was thy elder brother: thou hadst a 
younger brother too : Where did he stay ? 

THIRD CUIRASSIER. 

He is stationed at Olmutz, with the Imperial army. 



gC. XV. j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 365 

WALLENSTEIN (to the ANSPESSADE). 

Now then — begin. 

ANSPESSADE. 

There came to hand a letter from the Emperor 
Commanding us — 

wallenstein {interrupting him). 
Who chose you ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

Every company 
Drew its own man by lot. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Now ! to the business. 

ANSPESSADE. 

There came to hand a letter from the Emperor 
Commanding us collectively, from thee 
Ail duties of obedience to withdraw, 
Because thou wert an enemy and traitor. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And what did you determine ? 

ANSPESSADE. 

All our comrades 
At Braunau, Budweiss, Prague and Olmiitz, have 
Obey'd already ; and the regiments here, 
Tiefenbach and Toscano, instantly 
Did follow their example. But — but we 
Do not believe that thou art an enemy 
And traitor to thy country, hold it merely 
For lie and trick, and a trumped up Spanish story ! 

[With warmth. 
Thyself shalt tell us what thy purpose is, 
For we have found thee still sincere and true : 
No mouth shall interpose itself betwixt 
The gallant General and the gallant troops. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Therein I recognise my Pappenheimers. 

ANSPESSADE. 

And this proposal makes thy regiment to thee : 
Is it thy purpose merely to preserve 
In thine own hands this military sceptre, 
Which so becomes thee, which the Emperor 
Made over to thee by a covenant ! 



366 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [AC( III. 

Is it thy purpose merely to remain 

Supreme commander of the Austrian armies ? — 

We will stand by thee, General ! and guarantee 

Thy honest rights against all opposition. 

And should it chance, that all the other regiments 

Turn from thee, by ourselves will we stand forth 

Thy faithful soldiers, and, as is our duty, 

Far rather let ourselves be cut to pieces, 

Than suffer thee to fall. But if it be 

As the Emperor's letter says, if it be true, 

That thou in traitorous wise wilt lead us over 

To the enemy, which God in heaven forbid ! 

Then we too will forsake thee, and obey 

That letter— 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Hear me, children ! 

ANSPESSADE. 

Yes, or no ! 
There needs no other answer 

WALLENSTEIN 

Yield attention. 
You're men of sense, examine for yourselves ; 
Ye think, and do not follow with the herd : 
And therefore have I always shown you honour 
Above all others, suffer 'd you to reason ; 
Have treated you as free men, and my orders 
Were but the echoes of your prior suffrage. — 

ANSPESSADE. 

Most fair and noble has thy conduct been 

To us, my General ! With thy confidence 

Thou hast honour'd us, and shown us grace and favour 

Beyond all other regiments ; and thou seest 

We follow not the common herd. We will 

Stand by thee faithfully. Speak but one word — 

Thy word shall satisfy us, that it is not 

A treason which thou meditatest — that 

Thou meanest not to lead the army over 

To the enemy ; nor e'er betray thy country. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Me, me are they betraying. The Emperor 
Hath sacrificed me to my enemies, 



6C. XV J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 301 

And I must fall, unless my gallant troops 

Will rescue me. See ! I confide in you. 

And be your hearts my stronghold ! At this Ireast 

The aim is taken, at this hoary head. 

This is your Spanish gratitude, this is our 

Requital for that murderous fight at Lutzen ! 

For this we threw the naked breast against 

The halbert, made for this the frozen earth 

Our bed, and the hard stone our pillow ! never stream 

Too rapid for us, nor wood too impervious ; 

With cheerful spirit we pursued that Mansfeldt 

Through all the turns and windings of his flight : 

Yea, our whole life was but one restless march : 

And homeless, as the stirring wind, we travell'd 

O'er the war- wasted earth. And now, even now, 

That we have well nigh firrish'd the hard toil, 

The unthankful, the curse-laden toil of weapons, 

With faithful indefatigable arm 

Have roll'd the heavy war-load up the hill, 

Behold ! this boy of the Emperor's bears away 

The honours of the peace, an easy prize ! 

He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks 

The olive branch, the hard-earn'd ornament 

Of this grey head, grown grey beneath the helmet. 

ANSPESSADE. 

That shall he not, while we can hinder it ! 

No one, but thou, who hast conducted it 

With fame, shall end this war, this frightful war. 

Thou ledd'st us out to the bloody field 

Of death ; thou and no other shalt conduct us homo, 

Rejoicing, to the lovely plains of peace — 

Shalt share with us the fruits of the long toil — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What ! Think you then at length in late old age 
To enjoy the fruits of toil ? Believe it not. 
Never, no never, will you see the end 
Of the contest ! you and me, and all of us, 
This war will swallow up ! War, war, not peace, 
Is Austria's wish ; and therefore, because I 
Endeavour 'd after peace, therefore I fall. 
For what cares Austria, how long the war 



368 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. fjLCT III 

Wears out the armies and lays waste the world ! 
She will but wax and grow amid the ruir 
And still win new domains. 

[The Cuirassiers eocpress agitation by their gestures. 
Ye re moved — I see 
A noble rage flash from your eyes, ye warriors ! 
Oh that my spirit might possess you now 
Daring as once it led you to the battle ! 
Ye would stand by me with your veteran arms, 
Protect me in my rights ; and this is noble ! 
But think not that you can accomplish it, 
Your scanty number ! to no purpose will you 
Have sacrificed you for your General. [Confidentially 
No ! let us tread securely, seek for friends ; 
The Swedes have proffer 'd us assistance, let us 
Wear for a while the appearance of good will, 
And use them for your profit, till we both 
Carry the fate of Europe in our hands, 
And from our camp to the glad jubilant world 
Lead Peace forth with the garland on her head ! 

ANSPESSADE. 

'Tis then but mere appearances which thou 
Dost put on with the Swede ! Thou'lt not betray 
The Emperor ? Wilt not turn us into Swedes ? 
This is the only thing which we desire 
To learn from thee. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What care I for the Swedes ? 
I hate them as I hate the pit of hell, 
And under Providence I trust right soon 
To chase them to their homes across their Baltic. 
My cares are only for the whole : I have 
A heart — it bleeds within me for the miseries 
And piteous groaning of my fellow Germans. 
Ye are but common men, but yet ye think 
With minds not common ; ye appear to me 
Worthy before all others, that I whisper ye 
A little word or two in confidence ! 
See now ! already for full fifteen years, 
The war-torch has continued burning, yet 
No rest, no pause of conflict. Swede and German, 



£0. XVI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. U09 

Papist and Lutheran ! neither will give way 

To the other, every hand's against the other. 

Each one is party and no one a judge. 

Where shall this end? Where's he that will unravel 

This tangle, ever tangling more and more. 

It must be cut asunder. 

1 feel that I am the man of destiny, 

And trust, with your assistance, to accomplish it. 

Scene XVI. 

To these enter Butler. 

butler [passionately). 
General ! This is not right ! 

wallenstein. 

What is not right? 

BUTLER. 

It must needs injure us with all honest men 

WALLENSTEIN. 

But what? 

BUTLER. 

It is an open proclamation 
Of insurrection. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Well, well— hut what is it? 

BUTLER. 

Count Terzky's regiments tear the Imperial Eagle 
From off the banners, and instead of it 
Have rear'd aloft their arms. 

anspessade [abruptly to the Cuirassiers). 

Bight about ! March ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Cursed be this counsel, and accursed who gave it ! 

[To the Cuirassiers, who are retiring. 
Halt, children, halt ! There's some mistake in this ; 
Hark! — I will punish it severely. Stop ! 
They do not hear. [To Illo). Go after them, assure them, 
And bring them back to me, cost what it may. 

[Illo hurries oat 
This hurls us headlong. Butler ! Butler ! 
You are my evil genius, wherefore must vou 
Announce it in their presence ? It was all 

B B 



370 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IIJ. 

In a fair way. They were half won ! those madmen 
With their improvident over-readiness — 
A cruel game is Fortune playing with me. 
The zeal of friends it is that razes me, 
And not the hate of enemies. 

Scene XVII, 

To these enter the Duchess, who rushes into the Chamber 

Thekla and the Countess follow her. 

DUCHESS. 

Albrecht ! 
What hast thou done ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And now comes this beside. 

COUNTESS. 

Forgive me, brother ! It was not in my power — 
They know all. 

DUCHES9. 

What hast thou done ? 

COUNTESS (tO TERZKY). 

Is there no hope ? Is all lost utterly ? 

TERZKY. 

All lost. No hope. Prague in the Emperor's hands. 
The soldiery have taen their oaths anew. 

COUNTESS. 

That lurking hypocrite, Octavio ! 
Count Max. is off too. 

TERZKY. 

Where can he be ? He's 
Gone over to the Emperor with his father. 

[Thekla rushes out into the arms of her mother, hiding 
her face in tier bosom. 

duchess [enfolding her in her arms) 
Unhappy child ! and more unhappy mother ! 

wallenstein (aside to terzky). 
Quick ! Let a carriage stand in readiness 
In the court behind the palace. Scherfenberg 
Be their attendant ; he is faithful to us , 



BO AVIII.J the death of wallenstein. 37] 

To Egra he'll conduct them, and we follow. 

[To Illo, who returns. 
Thou hast not brought them back ? 

ILLO. 

Hear'st thou the uproar ? 
The whole corps of the Pappenheimers is 
Drawn out : the younger Piccolomini, 
Their colonel, they require : for they affirm, 
That he is in the palace here, a prisoner ; 
And if thou dost not instantly deliver him, 
They will find means to free him with the sword. 

[All stand amazed 

TEKZKY. 

What shall we make of this ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Said I not so ? 

my prophetic heart ! he is still here. 

He has not betray 'd me — he could not betray me. 

1 never doubted of it. 

COUNTESS. 

If he be 
Still here, then all goes well ; for I know what 

[Embracing Thekla 
Will keep him here for ever. 

TERZKY. 

It can't be. 
His father has betray 'd us, is gone over 
To the Emperor — the son could not have ventured 
To stay behind. 

thekla (her eye fixed on the door). 
There he is ! 

Scene XVIII. 
To these enter Max. Piccolomini. 

MAX. 

Yes ! here he is ! I can endure no longer 
To creep on tiptoe round this house, and lurk 
In ambush for a favourable moment : 
This loitering, this suspense exceeds my powers 

[Advancing to Thekla, who has thrown herself into kef 
mother'* arms. 

B p n 



372 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [-ACT 113 

Turn not thine eyes away. look upon me ! 
Confess it freely before all. Fear no one. 
Let who will hear that we both love each other. 
"Wherefore continue to conceal it ? Secrecy 
Is for the happy — misery, hopeless misery, 
Needeth no veil ! Beneath a thousand suns 
It dares act openly. 

[He observes the Countess looking on Thekla with 
expressions of triumph 

No, Lady ! No ! 
Expect not, hope it not. I am not come 
To stay : to bid farewell, farewell for ever. 
For this I come ! 'Tis over ! I must leave thee ! 
Thekla, I must — must leave thee ! Yet thy hatred 
Let me not take with me. I pray thee, grant me 
One look of sympathy, only one look. 
Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me Thekla ! 

[Grasps her hand, 

God ! I cannot leave this spot — I cannot ! 
Cannot let go this hand. tell me, Thekla ! 
That thou dost suffer with me, art convinced 
That I can not act otherwise. 

[Thekla, avoiding his look, points with her hand to 
her father. Max. turns round to the Duke, whom hi 
had not till then perceived. 
Thou here ? It was not thou, whom here I sought. 

1 trusted never more to have beheld thee 
My business is with her alone. Here will I 
Receive a full acquittal from this heart — 
For any other I am no more concern 'd. 

WALLENSTEIN, 

Think'st thou that, fool-like, I shall let thee go, 

And act the mock-magnanimous with thee ? 

Thy father is become a villain to me ; 

I hold thee for his son, and nothing more : 

Nor to no purpose shalt thou have been given 

Into my power. Think not, that I will honour 

That ancient love, which so remorselessly 

He mangled. They are now past by, those hours 

Of friendship and forgiveness Hate and vengeance 



6€. XVIII ] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 873 

Succeed — 'tis now their turn — I too can throw 
All feelings of the man aside — can prove 
Myself as much a monster as thy father ! 

max. {calmly). 
Thou wilt proceed with me, as thou hast power. 
Thou know'st, I neither brave nor fear thy rage. 
What has detain 'd me here, that too thou know'st. 

[Taking Thekla by the hand 
See, Duke ! All — all would I have owed to thee, 
Would have received from thy paternal hand 
The lot of blessed spirits. This hast thou 
Laid waste for ever — that concerns not thee. 
Indifferent thou tramplest in the dust 
Their happiness, who most are thine. The god 
Whom thou dost serve, is no benignant deity. 
Like as the blind irreconcileable 
Fierce element, incapable of compact, 
Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou follow*. 

* I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I feai 
that I should not have done amiss, had I taken this liberty more frequently. 
It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original, with a literal trans- 
lation. 

Weh denen, die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich 
Die sichre Hiitte ihres Gliickes lehnen, 
Gelockt von deiner geistlichen Gestalt. 
Schnell unverhofft, bet n'achtlich stiller Weile 
Gahrts in dem tiickschen Feuerschlunde, ladet 
Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg 
Treibt \iber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen 
Dei wilde Strom in grausender Zerstorung. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Du schilderst deines Yaters Herz. Wie Du's 
Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide, 
In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet. 
0, mich hat Hollenkunst get'auscht ! Mir sandte 
Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister, 
Den Liigenkundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn 
A Is Freund an meiner Seite. "Wer vermag 
Der Holle Macht zu widerstehn ! Ich zog 
Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen, 
Mit meinem Herzblut nahrt ich ihn, er sog 
Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Brustcn, 
Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn, 
Weit offen Hess ich des Gedankens Thoie, 



374 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. L ACT 111 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thou art describing thy own father s heart. 

The adder ! 0, the carhms of hell o'erpowered me. 

He dwelt within me, to my inmost soul 

Still to and fro he pass'd, suspected never 

On the wide ocean > in the starry heaven 

Did mine eyes seek the enemy, whom I 

In my heart's heart had folded ! Had I been 

To Ferdinand what Octavio was to me, 

War had I ne'er denounced against him. No, 

I never could have done it. The Emperor was 

My austere master only, not my friend, 

There was already war 'twixt him and me 

When he deliver'd the Commander's Staff 

Into my hands ; for there's a natural 

Unceasing war 'twixt cunning and suspicion ; 

Peace exists only betwixt confidence 

And faith. Who poisons confidence, he murders 

The future generations 

MAX. 

I will not 
Defend my father Woe is me, I cannot ! 
Hard deeds and luckless have ta'en place ; one crime 
Drags after it the other in close link. 
But we are innocent : how have we fallen 

Und warf die Schl'tissel weiser Vorsicht weg, 
Am Sternenhimmel, etc. 

LITERAL TRANSLATION. 

Alas ! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee lean the 
secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. Suddenly, un- 
expectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermentation in the 
treacherous gulf of fire ; it discharges itself with raging force, and away 
over all the plantations of men drives the wild stream in frightful devasta- 
tion. — wallenstein. Thou art portraying thy father's heart ; as thou 
describest, even so is it shaped in his entrails, in this black hypocrite's breast. 
0, the art of hell has deceived me ! The Abyss sent up to me the most 
spotted of the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by 
my side. "Who may withstand the power of hell ] I took the basilisk to 
my bosom, with my heart's blood I nourished him ; he sucked himself glut- 
full at the breasts of my love. I never harboured evil towards him ; wide 
open did I leave the door of my thoughts ; I threw away the key of wise 

foresight. In the starry heaven, &c We find a difficulty in believing this 

to have been written by Schiller. 



8C. XVIII.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 875 

Into this circle of mishap and guilt ? 

To whom have we been faithless ? Wherefore must 

The evil deeds and guilt reciprocal 

Of our two fathers twine like serpents round us ? 

Why must our fathers' 
Unconquerable hate rend us asunder, 
Who love each other ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Max., remain with me. 
Go you not from me, Max. ! Hark ! I will tell thee — 
How when at Prague, our winter quarters, thou 
Wert brought into my tent a tender boy, 
Not yet accustom'd to the German winters ; 
Thy hand was frozen to the heavy colours ; 
Thou wouldst not let them go. — 
At that time did I take thee in my arms, 
And with my mantle did I cover thee ; 
I was thy nurse, no woman could have been 
A kinder to thee ; I was not ashamed 
To do for thee all little offices, 
However strange to me ; I tended thee 
Till life return d ; and when thine eyes first open d, 
I had thee in my arms. Since then, when have 
Alter 'd my feelings towards thee ? Many thousands 
Have I made rich, presented them with lands ; 
Rewarded them with dignities and honours ; 
Thee have I loved : my heart, my self, I gave 
To thee ! They all were aliens : thou wert 
Our child and inmate*. Max. ! Thou canst not leave me ; 
It cannot be ; I may not, will not think 
That Max. can leave me. 

MAX. 

my God ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I have 

* This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate simplicity 
of the original — 

Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst 

Das Kind des Hauses. 
Indee the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger. si sic 

omnia ! 



376 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT <H . 

Held and sustain'd thee from thy tottering childhood 

What holy bond is there of natural love, 

What human tie, that does not knit thee to me ? 

I love thee, Max. ! What did thy father for thee, 

Which I too have not done, to the height of duty ? 

Go hence, forsake me, serve thy Emperor ; 

He will reward thee with a pretty chain 

Of gold ; with his ram's fleece will he reward thee*, 

For that the friend, the father of thy youth, 

For that the holiest feeling of humanity, 

Was nothing worth to thee. 

MAX. 

God ! how can I 
Do otherwise ? Am I not forced to do it, 
My oath — my duty — my honour — 

WALLENSTEIN. 

How? Thy duty? 
Duty to whom ? Who art thou ? Max. ! bethink thee 
What duties mayst thou have ? If I am acting 
A criminal part toward the Emperor, 
It is my crime, not thine. Dost thou belong 
To thine own self ? Art thou thine own commander ? 
Stand'st thou, like me, a freeman in the world, 
That in thy actions thou shouldst plead free agency ? 
On me thou 'rt planted, I am thy Emperor ; 
To obey me, to belong to me, this is 
Thy honour, this a law of nature to thee ! 
And if the planet, on the which thou livest 
And hast thy dwelling, from its orbit starts 
It is not in thy choice, whether or no 
Thoult follow it. Unfelt it whirls thee onward 
Together with his ring, and all his moons. 
With little guilt stepp'st thou into this contest ; 
Thee will the world not censure, it will praise thee. 
For that thou held'st thy friend more worth to thee 
Than names and influences more removed 
For justice is the virtue of the ruler, 
Affection and fidelitv the subject's. 
Not every one doth it beseem to question 
The far-off high Arcturus. Most securely 



CC. XIX.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 37 "i 

Wilt thou pursue the nearest duty : let 
The pilot fix his eye upon the pole-star. 



Scene XIX. 
To these enter Neumann. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What now? 

NEUMANN. 

The Pappenheimers are dismounted, 
And are advancing now on foot, determined 
With sword in hand to storm the house, and free 
The Count, their colonel. 

WALLENSTEIN (to TERZKY). 

Have the cannon planted. 
I will receive them with chain-shot. 

[Exit Tebzky> 
Prescribe to me with sword in hand ! Go, Neumann I 
'Tis my command that they retreat this moment, 
And in their ranks in silence wait my pleasure. 

lNeumann exit. Illo steps to the wind mm 
countess. 
Lat him go, I entreat thee, let him go. 
illo [at the window). 
Hell and perdition ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What is it? 

ILLO. 

They scale the council-house, the roof's uncovered, 
They level at this house the cannon — 

MAX. 

Madmen ! 

ILLO. 

They are making preparations now to fire on us. 

duchess and countess. 
Merciful heaven ! 

MAX. UO WALLENSTEIN) 

Let me go to them ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Not a stec ! 



878 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN f" ACT m 

max. (pointing to thekla and the duchess ). 
But their life ! Thine! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What tidings bring'st thou, Teizky \ 

Scene XX. 
To these Teezky returning. 

TEKZKY. 

Message and greeting from our faithful regiments. 
Their ardour may no longer be curbd in. 
They entreat permission to commence the attack ; 
And if thou wouldst but give the word of onset, 
They could now charge the enemy in rear, 
Into the city wedge them, and with ease 
O'erpower them in the narrow streets. 

ILLO. 

come ! 
Let not their ardour cool. The soldiery 
Of Butler s corps stand by us faithfully; 
We are the greater number. Let us charge them, 
And finish here in Pilsen the revolt. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What ? shall this town become a field of slaughter, 

And brother-killing Discord, fire-eyed, 

Be let loose through its streets to roam and rage ? 

Shall the decision be deliver'd over 

To deaf remorseless Rage, that hears no leader ? 

Here is not room for battle, only for butchery. 

Well, let it be f I have long thought of it, 

So let it burst then ! 

[Turns to Max 
Well, how is it with thee ? 
Wilt thou attempt a heat with me. Away! 
Thou art free to go. Oppose thyself to me, 
Front against front, and lead them to the battle ; 
Thou'rt skill'd in war, thou hast learn 'd somewhat under me, 
I need not be ashamed of my opponent, 
And never hadst thou fairer opportunity 
To pay me for thy schooling. 



PC. XX. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 379 

COUNTESS. 

Is it then, 
Can it have come to this ? — What ! Cousin, cousin ! 
Have you the heart? 

MAX. 

The regiments that are trusted to my care 

I have pledged my troth to bring away from Pilsen 

True to the Emperor ; and this promise will I 

Make good, or perish. More than this no duty 

Requires of me. I will not fight against thee, 

Unless compell'd ; for though an enemy, 

Thy head is holy to me still. 

[Two reports of cannon. Illo and Tekzky hurry to the 
window 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What's that? 

TEKZKY. 

He falls. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Falls! Who? 

ILLO. 

Tiefenbach s corps 
Discharged the ordnance. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Upon whom ? 

ILLO. 

On Neumann 
Your messenger. 

wallenstein (starting up). 

Ha! Death and hell ! I will— 

TEKZKY 

Expose thyself to their blind frenzy ? 

duchess and countess. 

No! 
For God's sake, no ! 

ILLO. 

Not yet, my General ! 
O hold him ! hold him ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Leave mo — — 



580 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN [ACT 131. 

MAX. 

Do it not ; 
Not y3t ! This rash and bloody deed has thrown them 
Into a frenzy-fit — allow them time 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Away! too long already have I loiter'd. 
They are emboldened to these outrages, 
Beholding not my face. They shall behold 

My countenance, shall hear my voice 

Are they not my troops ? Am I not their General, 

And their long-fear 'd commander ! Let me see, 

Whether indeed they do no longer know 

That countenance, which was their sun in battle ! 

From the balcony (mark !) I show myself 

To these rebellious forces, and at once 

Revolt is mounded, and the high-sworn current 

Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience. 

[Exit Wallenstein; Illo, Terzky, and Butleb 
follow. 

Scene XXI. 

Countess, Duchess, Max. and Thekla., 

countess (to the duchess). 
Let them but see him — there is hope still, sister 

DUCHESS. 

Hope ! I have none ! 

max. (who during the last scene has heen standing at a dit 
tance, in a visible struggle of feelings, advances). 
This can I not endure. 
With most determined soul did I come hither ; 
My purposed action seem'd unblamable 
To my own conscience — and I must stand here 
Like one abhorr'd, a hard inhuman being : 
Yea, loaded with the curse of all I love ! 
Must see all whom I love in this sore anguish, 
Whom I with one word can make happy — ! 
My heart revolts within me, and two voices 
Make themselves audible within my bosom. 
My soul's benighted ; I no longer can 
Distinguish the right track. 0, well and truly 



8C. XXI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. tj£ I 

Didst thou say, father, I relied too much 

On my own heart. My mind moves to and fro-* 

I know not what to do. 

COUNTESS. 

What ! you know not ? 
Does not your own heart tell you? ! then I 
Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor, 
A frightful traitor to us — he has plotted 
Against our General's life, has plunged us all 
In misery — and you're his son ! Tis yours 
To make the amends — Make you the son's fidelity 
Outweigh the father's treason, that the name 
Of Piccolomini be not a proverb 
Of infamy, a common form of cursing 
To the posterity of Wallenstein. 

MAX. 

Where is that voice of truth which I dare follow ! 
It speaks no longer in my heart. We all 
But utter what our passionate wishes dictate : 

that an angel would descend from heaven, 
And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted, 
With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light. 

[His eyes glance on Thekla 
What other angel seek I? To this heart, 
To this unerring heart, will I submit it; 
Will ask thy love, which has the power to bless 
The happy man alone, averted ever 
From the disquieted and guilty — canst thou 
Still love me, if I stay? Say that thou canst, 
And I am the Duke's— — 

COUNTESS. 

Think, niece 

MAX. 

Think, nothing, Thekla I 
Speak what thou feelest. 

COUNTESS. 

Think upon your father. 

MAX. 

1 did not question thee, as Fried] and 's daughter. 
Thee, the beloved and the unerring god 
Within thy heart, I question. What's at stake? 



382 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT III 

Not whether diadem of royalty 

Be to be won or not — that mightst thou think on. 

Thy friend, and his soul's quiet, are at stake: 

The fortune of a thousand gallant men, 

Who will all follow me ; shall I forswear . 

My oath and duty to the Emperor ? 

Say, shall I send into Octavio's camp 

The parricidal ball ? For when the ball 

Has left its cannon, and is on its flight, 

It is no longer a dead instrument ! 

It lives, a spirit passes into it. 

The avenging furies seize possession of it, 

And with sure malice guide it the worst way. 

THEKLA. 

0! Max. 

max. (interrupting her). 
Nay, not precipitately either, Thekla. 
I understand thee. To thy noble heart 
The hardest duty might appear the highest. 
The human, not the great part, would I act 
Even from my childhood to this present hour, 
Think what the Duke has done for me, how loved me, 
And think, too, how my father has repaid him. 
likewise the free lovely impulses 
Of hospitality, the pious friend's 
Faithful attachment, these, too, are a holy 
Religion to the heart ; and heavily 
The shudderings of nature do avenge 
Themselves on the barbarian that insults them 
Lay all upon the balance, all — then speak, 
And let thy heart decide it. 

THEKLA 

0, thy own 
Hath long ago decided. Follow thou 
Thy heart's first feeling 

COUNTESS. 

Oh ! ill-fated woman : 

THEKLA. 

Is it possible, that that can be the right, 
The which thy tender heart did not at first 
Detect and seize with instant impulse ? Go, 



«0. XX1I.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN 388 

Fulfil thy duty ! I should ever love thee. 

Whate'er thou hadst chosen, thou wouldst still have acted 

Nobly and worthy of thee — but repentance 

Shall ne'er disturb thy souls fair peace 

MAX. 

Then I 
M ust leave thee, must part from thee ! 

THEKLA. 

Being faithful 

To thine own self, thou art faithful, too, to me ■ 

If our fates part, our hearts remain united. 

A bloody hatred will divide for ever 

The houses Piccolomini and Friedland ; 

But we belong not to our houses. Go ! 

Quick ! quick ! and separate thy righteous cause 

From our unholy and unblessed one ! 

The curse of Heaven lies upon our head : 

Tis dedicate to ruin. Even me 

My father's guilt drags with it to perdition. 

Mourn not for me : 

My destiny will quickly be decided. 

[Max. clasps her in his arms in extreme emotion. There 
is heard from behind the Scene a loud, wild, long con- 
tinued cry, Yivat Ferdinandus ! accompanied by war* 
like instruments. Max. and Thekla remain without 
motion in each other s embraces. 

Scene XXII. 
To the above enter Teezky. 

countess (meeting him). 
What meant that cry ? What was it ? 
teezky. 

All is lost ! 

COUNTESS. 

What! they regarded not his countenance? 

TEEZKY. 

Twas all in vain. 

DUCHESS. 

They shouted Vivat ! 



384 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [JUT IT) 

TERZKY. 

To the Emperor* 

COUNTESS. 

The traitors ! 

TEKZKY. 

Nay ! he was not permitted 
Even to address them. Soon as he began, 
With deafening noise of warlike instruments 
They drown'd his words. But here he comes. 

Scene XXIII. 

To these enter Wallenstein, accompanied by Illo and 

Butlee. 

wallenstein (as he enters). 

Terzky ! 

TEEZKY 

My General ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Let our regiments hold themselves 
In readiness to march ; for we shall leave 
Pilsen ere evening. [Exit Terzky 

Butler ! 

BUTLER 

Yes, my General 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Governor of Egra is your friend 
And countryman. Write to him instantly 
By a post courier. He must be advised, 
That we are with him early on the morrow. 
You follow us yourself, your regiment with you. 

BUTLER. 

It shall be done, my General ! 
wallenstein (steps between Max. and Thekla, who have ■re- 
mained during this time in each other s arms). 

Part ! 

MAX. 

God! 

[Cuirassiers enter with drawn swords, and assemble in the 
back-ground. At the same time there are heard from below 
some spirited passages out of the Pappenheim March, which 
seem, tc address Max. 



8C. XXIII.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTELN. 385 

wallenstein (to the Cuirassiers). 
Here he is, he is at liberty : I keep him 
No longer. 

[He turns away, and stands so that Max. cannot pass by 
him nor approach the Princess, 
max. 
Thou know'st that I have not yet learnt to live 
Without thee ! I go forth into a desert, 
Leaving my all behind me. O do not turn 
Thine eyes away from me ! once more show me 
Thy ever dear and honour 'd countenance. 

[Max. attempts to take his hand, but is repelled : he 
turns to the Countess. 
Ts there no eye that has a look of pity for me ? 

[The Countess turns away from him ; he turns to the 
Duchess. 
My mother ! 

duchess. 
Go where duty calls you. Haply 
The time may come, when you may prove to us 
A true friend, a good angel at the throne 
Of the Emperor. 

MAX. 

You give me hope ; you would not 
Suffer me wholly to despair. No ! no ! 
Mine is a certain misery. Thanks to Heaven ! 
That offers me a means of ending it. 

[The military music begins again. The stage fills more 
and more with armed men. Max. sees Butler and 
addresses him. 
And you here, Colonel Butler— and will you 
Not follow me ? Well, then ! remain more faithful 
To your new lord, than you have proved yourself 
To the Emperor. Come, Butler ! promise me. 
Give me your hand upon it, that you'll be 
The guardian of his life, its shield, its watchman. 
He is attainted, and his princely head 
Fair booty for each slave that trades in murder. 
Now he doth need the faithful eye of friendship, 
And those whom here I see — 

[Casting suspicious looks on Illo and Butler, 

c c 



380 THR JDEATH of wallenstein. [act IV. 

ILLO. 

Go — seek for traitors 
In Gallas', in your father's quarters. Here 
Is only one. Away ! away ! and free us 
From his detested sight ! Away ! 

[Max. attempts once more to approach Thekla. Wallen- 
stein prevents him. Max. stands irresolute, and in 
apparent anguish. In the mean time the stage fills more 
and more ; and the horns sound from below louder 
and louder, and each time after a shorter interval. 

MAX. 

Blow, blow ! were it but the Swedish Trumpets, 
And all the naked swords, which I see here, 
Were plunged into my breast ! What purpose you ? 
You come to tear me from this place ! Beware, 
Ye drive me not to desperation. Do it not ! 
Ye may repent it ! 

[The stage is entirely filled with armed men. 
Yet more ! weight upon weight to drag me down ! 
Think what ye 're doing. It is not well don** 
To choose a man despairing for your leader ; 
You tear me from my happiness. Well, then, 
I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark ! 
For your own ruin you have chosen me : 
Who goes with me, must be prepared to perish. 

[He turns to the background, their ensues a sudden anC 
violent movement among the Cuirassiers ; they sur 
round him, and carry him off in wild tumult. Wal- 
lenstein remains immoveable. Thekla sinks into her 
mothers arms. The curtain falls. The music becomes 
loud and overpowering , and passes into a complete war- 
march^— the orchestra joins it — and continues during 
the interval between the second and third Act. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. 
The Buegomastek's House at Egra. 
butlek (just arrived). 
Here then he is, by his destiny conducted. 
Here, Friedland ! and no farther ! From Bohemia 



SO. If f THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. SS'l 

Thy meteor rose, traversed the sky awhile, 
And here upon the borders of Bohemia 
Must sink. 

Thou hast foresworn the ancient colours, 
Blind man ! yet trustest to thy ancient fortunes. 
Profaner of the altar and the hearth, 
Against thy Emperor and fellow citizens 
Thou mean st to wage the war. Friedland, beware — 
The evil spirit of revenge impels thee — 
Beware thou, that revenge destroy thee not ! 

Scene II. 
Butler and Gordon. 

GORDON. 

Is it you ? 

How my heart sinks ! The Duke a fugitive traitor ! 
His princely head attainted ! O my God ! 
[_ Tell me, General, I implore thee, tell me 
In full, of all these sad events at Pilsen.] 

BUTLER. 

You have received the letter which I sent you 
By a post-courier ? 

GORDON. 

Yes : and in obedience to it 
Open'd the stronghold to him without scruple, 
For an imperial letter orders me 
To follow your commands implicitly. 
But yet forgive me ! when even now I saw 
The Duke himself, my scruples recommenced. 
For truly, not like an attainted man, 
Into this town did Friedland make his entrance ; 
His wonted majesty beam'd from his brow, 
And calm, as in the days when all was right, 
Did he receive from me the accounts of office. 
Tis said, that fallen pride learns condescension • 
But sparing and with dignity the Duke 
Weigh'd every syllable of approbation, 
As masters praise a servant who has done 
His duty and no more. 

co 2 



888 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIS. r L ACT IV 

BUTLEK. 

'Tis all precisely 
As I related in my letter. Friedland 
Has sold the army to the enemy, 
And pledged himself to give up Prague and I gra 
On this report the regiments all forsook him, 
The five excepted that belong to Terzky, 
And which have follow'd him, as thou hast seen 
The sentence of attainder is pass'd on him, 
And every loyal subject is required 
To give him in to justice, dead or living. 

GORDON. 

A traitor to the Emperor. Such a noble ! 

Of such high talents ! What is human greatness ! 

I often said, this can't end happily. 

His might, his greatness, and this obscure power 

Are but a coverd pit-fall. The human being 

May not be trusted to self-government. 

The clear and written law, the deep trod foot-marks 

Of ancient custom, are all necessary 

To keep him in the road of faith and duty. 

The authority entrusted to this man 

Was unexampled and unnatural, 

It placed him on a level with his Emperor, 

Till the proud soul unleam'd submission. Wo is mc ; 

I mourn for him ! for where he fell, I deem 

Might none stand firm. Alas ! dear General, 

We in our lucky mediocrity 

Have ne'er experienced, cannot calculate, 

What dangerous wishes such a height may breed 

In the heart of such a man. 

BUTLER. 

Spare your laments 
Till he need sympathy ; for at this present 
He is still mighty, and still formidable. 
The Swedes advance to Egra by forced marches, 
M+ncL quickly will the junction be accomplish'd. 
This must not be ! The Duke must never leave 
This stronghold on free footing ; for I have 
Pledged life and honour here to hold him prisoner, 
i2tXKa yuur assistance 'tis on which I calculate. 



tSC II.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 389 

GORDON. 

that I had not lived to see this day ! 
From his hand I received this dignity, 

He did himself entrust this stronghold to me, 
Which I am now required to make his dungeon. 
We subalterns have no will of our own : 
The free, the mighty man alone may listen 
To the fair impulse of his human nature. 
Ah ! we are but the poor tools of the law, 
Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at ! 

BUTLEE. 

Nay ! let it not afflict you, that your power 
Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error ! 
The narrow path of duty is securest. 

GORDON. 

And all then hftve deserted him you say ? 
He has built up the luck of many thousands ; 
For kingly was his spirit : his full hand 
Was ever open ! Many a one from dust 

[With a sly glance on Butler 
Hath he selected, from the very dust 
Hath raised him into dignity and honour. 
And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchased, 
Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour. 

BUTLER. 

Here's one, I see. 

GORDON. 

I have enjoy 'd from him 
No grace or favour. I could almost doubt, 
If ever in his greatness he once thought on 
An old friend of his youth. For still my office 
Kept me at distance from him ; and when first 
He to this citadel appointed me, 
He was sincere and serious in his duty. 

1 do not then abuse his confidence, 
If I preserve my fealty in that 
Which to my fealty was first delivered. 

BUTLER. 

Say, then, will you fulfil th' attainder on him, 
£ And lend your aid to take him in arrest ? ~\ 

Gordon (pauses, reflecting — then as in deep dejection) 
If it be so — if all be as you say — 



390 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. r ACT T7 

If heVe betray 'd the Emperor, his master, 
Have sold the troops, have purposed to deliver 
The strongholds of the country to the enemy — 
Yea, truly ! — there is no redemption for him ! 
Yet it is hard, that me the lot should destine 
To be the instrument of his perdition ; 
For we were pages at the court of Bergau 
At the same period; but I was the senior. 

BUTLER. 

I have heard so 

GOEDON. 

'Tis full thirty years since then 
A youth who scarce had seen his twentieth year 
Was Wallenstein, when he and I were friends : 
Yet even then he had a daring soul : 
His frame of mind was serious and severe 
Beyond his years : his dreams were of great objects. 
l£e walk'd amidst us of a silent spirit, 
Communing with himself; yet I have known him 
Transported on a sudden into utterance 
Of strange conceptions ; kindling into splendour. 
His soul reveal'd itself, and he spake so 
That we look'd round perplex'd upon each other, 
Not knowing whether it were craziness, 
Or whether it were a god that spoke in him. 

BUTLER. 

But was it where he fell two story high 

From a window-ledge, on which he had fallen asleer 

And rose up free from injury ? From this day 

(It is reported) he betrayed clear marks 

Of a distemper 'd fancy. 

GORDON. 

He became 
Doubtless more self-enwrapt and melancholy ; 
He made himself a Catholic *. Marvellously 
His marvellous preservation had transform'd him. 
Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted 
And privileged being, and, as if he were 
Incapable of dizziness or fall, 

* It appears that the account of his conversion being caused by such 
fall, and other stories of his juvenile character, are not well authenticated. 



a 



6C III] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 391 

He ran along the unsteady rope of life 

But now our destinies drove us asunder, 

He paced with rapid step the way of greatness, 

Was Count, and Prince, Duke-regent, and Dictator . 

And now is all, all this too little for him ; 

He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown, 

And plunges in unfathomable ruin. 

BUTLER. 

No more, he comes. 

Scene III 
To these enter Wallenstein, in conversation with the Burgo- 
master of Egra. 
wallenstein. 
You were at one time a free town. I see, 
Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms. 
Why the half eagle only ? 

BURGOMASTER. 

We were free, 
But for these last two hundred years has Egra 
Remain 'd in pledge to the Bohemian crown ; 
Therefore we bear the half eagle, the other half 
Being cancell'd till the empire ransom us, 
If ever that should be. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ye merit freedom. 
Only be firm and dauntless. Lend your ears 
To no designing whispering court-minions. 
What may your imposts be ? 

BURGOMASTER. 

So heavy that 
We totter under them. The garrison 
Lives at our costs. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I will relieve you Tell me, 
There are some Protestants among you still ? 

[The Burgomaster hesitates 
Yes, yes ; I know it. Many lie conceal'd 
Within these walls — Confess now — you yourself — 

[Fixes his eye on him. The Burgomaster alarmed 



^92 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN^ [ACT IV 

Be not alarm'd. I hate the Jesuits. 
Could my will have determined it, they had 
Been long ago expell'd the empire. Trust me — 
Mass-book or bible, 'tis all one to me. 
Of that the world has had sufficient proof. 
I built a church for the Reform 'd in Glogau 
At my own instance. Harkye, Burgomaster! 
What is your name ? 

BURGOMASTER. 

Pachhalbel, may it please you 

WALLEN STEIN. 

Harkye ! 

But let it go no further, what I now 
Disclose to you in confidence. 

[Laying his hand on the Burgomaster's shoulder 
with a certain solemnity. 

The times 
Draw near to their fulfilment, Burgomaster ! 
The high will fall, the low will be exalted. 
Harkye ! But keep it to yourself ! The end 
Approaches of the Spanish double monarchy — 
A new arrangement is at hand. You saw 
The three moons that appear 'd at once in the Heaven ? 

BURGOMASTER. 

With wonder and affright ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Whereof did two 
Strangely transform themselves to bloody daggers, 
And only one, the middle moon, remained 
Steady and clear. 

BURGOMASTER. 

We applied it to the Turks. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Turks ! That all? — I tell you, that two empires 
Will set in blood, in the East and in the West, 
And Luth'ranism alone remain. 

[Observing Gordon and Butler 
I' faith, 
'Twas a smart cannonading that we heard 
This evening, as we journey 'd hitherward; 
Twas on our left hand. Did you hear it here ? 



sC IV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 393 

GORDON. 

Distinctly. The wind brought it from the south. 

BUTLEB. 

It seem'd to come from Weiden or from Neustadt. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

'Tis likely. That's the route the Swedes are taking. 
How strong is the garrison ? 

GORDON. 

Not quite two hundred 
Competent men, the rest are invalids. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Good ! And how many in the vale of Jochim ? 

GORDON. 

Two hundred arquebusiers have I sent thither 
To fortify the posts against the Swedes. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Good ! I commend your foresight. At the works too 
You have done somewhat ? 

GORDON. 

Two additional batteries 
I caused to be run up. They were needless. 
The Ehinegrave presses hard upon us, General ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

You have been watchful in your Emperor's service. 
I am content with you, Lieutenant-Golonel. 



Release the outposts in the vale of Jochim 
With all the stations in the enemy's route. 



Governor, in your faithful hands I leave 
My wife, my daughter, and my sister. I 
Shall make no stay here, and wait but the arrival 
Of letters to take leave of you, together 
With all the regiments. 

Scene IV. 

To these enter Count Terzky. 

TERZKY. 

Joy, General ; joy i I bring you welcome tidings 



[To Butler 
[To Gordon. 



394 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN [ACT IV. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

And what may they be ? 

TERZKT. 

There has been an engagement 

At Neustadt; the Swedes gain'd the victory. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

From whence did you receive the intelligence ? 

TERZKY. 

A countryman from Tirschenreut convey 'd it* 
Soon after sunrise did the fight begin ! 
A troop of the Imperialists from Tachau 
Had forced their way into the Swedish camp ; 
The cannonade continued full two hours ; 
There were left dead upon the field a thousand 
Imperialists, together with their Colonel ; 
Further than this he did not know. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

How came 
Imperial troops at Neustadt ? Altringer, 
But yesterday, stood sixty miles from there. 
Count Gallas' force collects at Frauenberg, 
And have not the full complement. Is it possible 
That Suys perchance had ventured so far onward ? 
It cannot be 

TERZKY. 

We shall soon know the whole, 
For here comes Illo, full of haste, and joyous. 

Scene V. 
To these enter Illo. 

ILLO (tO WALLENSTEIN). 

A courier, Duke ! he wishes to speak with thee . 

terzky (eagerly). 
Does he bring confirmation of the victory? 

wallenstein (at the same time). 
What does he bring? Whence comes he? 
illo. 

From the Rhinegrave 
And what he brings I can announce to you 



SC. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 39«*> 

Beforehand. Seven leagues distant are the Swedes; 

At Neustadt did Max. Piccolomini 

Throw himself on them with the cavalry ; 

A murderous fight took place ! o'erpower'd by numbers 

The Pappenheimers all, with Max. their leader, 

[Wallenstein shudders and turns pale 
Were left dead on the field. 

wallenstein {after a 'pause in a low voice). 
Where is the messenger ? Conduct me to him. 

[Wallenstein is going, when Lady Neubrunn rushes 
into the room. Some servants follow her and run 
across the stage. 

neubrunn 
Help! Help! 

illo and terzky (at the same time). 
What now? 

neubrunn. 

The Princess ! 

WALLENSTEIN and TERZKY. 

Does she know it? 
neubrunn (at the same time with them). 
She is dying ! 

[Hurries off the stage, when Wallenstein and Terzky 
follow her. 

Scene VI. 
Butler and Gordon. 

GORDON. 

What's this ? 

BUTLER. 

She has lost the man she loved— 
Young Piccolomini who fell in the battle. 

GORDON. 

Unfortunate Lady ! 

BUTLER. 

You have heard what Illo 
Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerors, 
And marching hitherward 

GORDON. 

Too well I heard it 



&96 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN [ACT IV 

BUTLER. 

They are twelve regiments strong, and there are five 
Close hy us to protect the Duke. We have 
Only my single regiment ; and the garrison 
Ts not two hundred strong. 

GORDON. 

Tis even so. 

BUTLER. 

It is not possible with such small force 
To hold in custody a man like him, 

GORDON 

I grant it. 

BUTLER. 

Soon the numbers would disarm us, 
And liberate him. 

GORDON. 

It were to be fear'd. 
butler (after a pause). 
Know, I am warranty for the event ; 
With my head have I pledged myself for his, 
Must make my word good, cost it what it will, 
And if alive we cannot hold him prisoner, 
Why — death makes all things certain ! 

GORDON. 

Butler! What? 
Do I understand you ? Gracious God ! You could — 

BUTLER. 

He must not live. 

GORDON. 

And you can do the deed ! 

BUTLER. 

Either you or I. This morning was his last 

GORDON. 

You would assassinate him. 

BUTLER. 

'Tis my purpose. 

GORDON. 

Who leans with his whole confidence upon you ! 

BUTLER. 

Such is his evil destiny ! 



SC. VI j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 397 

GOEDON. 

Your General ! 
The sacred person of your General ' 

BUTLEB. 

My General he has been. 

GOEDON. 

That 'tis only 
An " has been ' ' washes out no villany. 
And without judgment pass'd ? 

BUTLEE. 

The execution 
Is here instead of judgment. 

GOEDON. 

This were murder, 
Not justice. The most guilty should be heard. 

BUTLEE. 

His guilt is clear, the Emperor has pass'd judgment, 
And we but execute his will. 

GOEDON. 

We should not 
Hurry to realize a bloody sentence. 
A word may be recall 'd, a life can never be. 

BUTLEE. 

Despatch in service pleases sovereigns. 

GOEDON. 

No honest man's ambitious to press forward 
To the hangman's service. 

BUTLEE. 

And no brave man loses 
His colour at a daring enterprise. 

GOEDON. 

A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience. 

BUTLEE. 

What then ? Shall he go forth anew to kindle 
The unextinguishable flame of war? 

GOEDON. 

Seize ,him, and hold him prisoner — do not kill him 

BUTLEE. 

Had not the Emperor's army been defeated, 
I might have done so. — But 'tis now past by. 

GOEDON. 

0, wherefore open'd I the stronghold to him 9 



$98 THE i)EATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IV. 

BUTLEB 

His destiny and not the place destroys him. 

GORDON. 

Upon these ramparts, as beseem'd a soldier, 
I had fallen, defending the Emperor's citadel ! 

BUTLER. 

Yes ! and a thousand gallant men have perish'd ! 

GORDON. 

Doing their duty — that adorns the man ! 

But murder's a black deed, and nature curses it. 

butler (brings out a paper). 
Here is the manifesto which commands us 
To gain possession of his person. See — 
It is addressed to you as well as me. 
Are you content to take the consequences, 
If through our fault he escape to the enemy ? 

GORDON. 

I? — Gracious God! 

BUTLER. 

Take it on yourself. 
Come of it what may, on you I lay it. 

GORDON. 

God in heaven ! 

BUTLER. 

Can you advise aught else 
Wherewith to execute the Emperor's purpose ? 
Say if you can. For I desire his fall, 
Not his destruction. 

GORDON. 

, Merciful heaven ! what must be 

1 see as clear as you. Yet still the heart 
Within my bosom beats with other feelings ! 

BUTLER. 

Mine is of harder stuff ! Necessity 

In her rough school hath steel'd me. And this Illo, 

And Terzky likewise, they must not survive him 

GORDON. 

I feel no pang for these. Their own bad hearts 
Impell'd them, not the influence of the stars. 
'Twas they who strew'd the seeds of evil passions 
In his calm breast, and with officious villany 



fO. VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 399 

Water d and nursed the pois'nous plants. May tbey 
"Receive their earnests to the uttermost mite ! 

BUTLER. 

And their death shall precede his ! * 

We meant to have taken them alive this evening 

Amid the merry-making of a feast, 

And keep them prisoners in the citadel. 

But this makes shorter work. I go this instant 

To give the necessary orders. 

Scene VII. 
To these enter Illo and Terzky. 

TERZKY. 

Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come 
The Swedes — twelve thousand gallant warriors, ILo ! 
Then straightwise for Vienna. Cheerily, friend ! 
What ! meet such news with such a moody face ? 

ILLO. 

It lies with us at present to prescribe 

Laws, and take vengeance on those worthless traitoi s, 

Those skulking cowards that deserted us ; 

One has already done his bitter penance, 

The Piccolomini : be his the fate 

Of all who wish us evil ! This flies sure 

To the old man s heart; he has his whole life long 

Fretted and toil'd to raise his ancient house 

From a Count's title to the name of prince; 

And now must seek a grave for his only son. 

BUTLER. 

'Twas pity, though ! A youth of such heroic 
And gentle temperament ! The Duke himself, 
'Twas easily seen, how near it went to his heart 

ILLO. 

Hark ye, old friend ! That is the very point 
That never pleased me in our General — 
He ever gave the preference to the Italians. 
Yea, at this very moment, by my soul ! 
He'd gladly see us all dead ten times over, 
Could he thereby recall his friend to life. 

TERZKY. 

Hush, hush ! Let the dead rest ! This evening's business 
Is, who can fairly drink the other down — 



400 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. J AOL IV 

Your regiment, Illo ! gives the entertainment. 
Come ! we will keep a merry carnival — 
The night for once be day. and mid full glasses 
Will we expect the Swedish avant-garde. 

ILLO. 

Yes, let us be of good cheer for to-day, 
For there's hot work before us, friends ! This swcrd 
Shall have no rest, till it be bathed to the hilt 
In Austrian blood. 

GOBDON. 

Shame, shame ! what talk is this 
My Lord Field-Marshal ? Wherefore foam you so 
Against your Emperor ? 

BUTLEK. 

Hope not too much 
From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs ! 
How rapidly the wheel of Fortune turns ; 
The Emperor still is formidably strong. 

ILLO. 

The Emperor has soldiers, no commander, 

For this King Ferdinand of Hungary 

Is but a tyro. Gallas ? He's no luck, 

And was of old the miner of armies. 

And then this viper, this Octavio, 

Is excellent at stabbing in the back, 

But ne'er meets Friedland in the open field. 

TERZKT. 

Trust me, my friends, it cannot but succeed ; 
Fortune, we know, can ne'er forsake the Duke t 
And only under Wallenstein can Austria 
Be conqueror. 

ILLO. 

The Duke will soon assemble 
A mighty army : all comes crowding, streaming 
To banners, dedicate by destiny, 
To fame, and prosperous fortune. I behold 
Old times come back again ! he will become 
Once more the mighty Lord which he has been. 
How will the fools, who've now deserted him, 
Look then ? I can't but laugh to think of them. 
For lands will he present to all his friends, 



SC. VIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 401 

And like a King and Emperor reward 
True services ; but we've the nearest claims. 

[To Gordon. 
You will tiot be forgotten, Governor! 
He'll take you from this nest, and bid you shine 
In higher station : your fidelity 
Well merits it. 

GORDON. 

I am content already, 
And wish to climb no higher; where great height is, 
The fall must needs be great. " Great height, great deptu." 

ILLO. 

Here you have no more business, for to-morrow 
The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. 
Come, Terzky, it is supper- time. What think you ? 
Nay, shall we have the town illuminated 
In honour of the Swede ? And who refuses 
To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor. 

TERZKY. 

Nay ! nay ! not that, it will not please the Duke — 

ILLO. 

What ! we are masters here ; no soul shall dare 
Avow himself Imperial where we've the rule. 
Gordon ! good night, and for the last time, take 
A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles 
To make secure, the watch-word may be alter'd 
At the stroke of ten ; deliver in the keys 
To the Duke himself, and then you've quit for ever 
Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow 
The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. 

terzky (as he is going, to butler). 
You come, though, to the castle? 

BUTLEB. 

At the right time. 
[Exeunt Terzky and Iixo 

Scene VIII. 
Gordon and Butler. 
Gordon (looking after them). 
Unhappy men ! How free from all foreboding ! 
They rush into the outspread net of murder 



402 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT Jv 

In the blind drunkenness of victory ; 

I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, 

This overflowing and foolhardy villain, 

That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood. — 

BUTLEK. 

Do as he order'd you. Send round patroles, 
Take measures for the citadel's security ; 
When they are within I close the castle-gate 
That nothing may transpire. 

Gordon [with earnest anxiety). 

Oh ! haste not so ! 
Nay, stop ; first tell me 

BUTLER. 

You have heard already, 
To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night 
Alone is ours. They make good expedition. 
But we will make still greater. Fare you. well. 

GOKDON. 

Ah ! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler, 
I pray you, promise me ! 

- BUTLER. 

The sun has set ; 

A fateful evening doth descend upon us, 

And brings on their long night ! Their evil stars 

Deliver them unarm'd into our hands, 

And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes 

The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, 

The Duke was ever a great calculator ; 

His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, 

To move and station, as his game required. 

Other men's honour, dignity, good name, 

Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of 

Still calculating, ca-lculating still ; 

And yet at last his calculation proves 

Erroneous ; the whole game is lost ; and lo ! 

His own life will be found among the forfeits. 

GORDON. 

O think not of his errors now ! remember 
His greatness, his munificence ; think on all 



SO. VIII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 40ii 

The lovely features of his character. 
On all the noble exploits of his life, 
And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen. 
Arrest the lifted sword. 

BUTLEK. 

It is too late. 
I suffer not myelf to feel compassion, 
Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now : 

[Grasping Gordon's hand. 
Gordon ! 'tis not my hatred, (I pretend not 
To love the Duke, and have no cause to love hinO 
Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me 
To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate. 
Hostile concurrences of many events 
Control and subjugate me to the office. 
In vain the human being meditates 
Free action. He is but the wire-work'd * puppet 
Of the blind Power, which out of its own choice 
Creates for him a dread necessity. 
What too would it avail him, if there were 
A something pleading for him in my heart — 
Still I must kill him. 

GORDON. 

If your heart speak to you, 
Follow its impulse. 'Tis the voice of God. 
Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous 
Bedew'd with blood — his blood ? Believe it not ! 

BUTLER. 

You know not. Ask not ! Wherefore should it happen, 

That the Swedes gain'd the victory, and hasten 

With such forced marches hitherwards ? Fain would I 

Have given him to the Emperor's mercy. Gordon ! 

I do not wish his blood — But I must ransom 

The honour of my word, — it lies in pledge — 

And he must die, or 

[Passionately grasping Gordon's hand 
Listen then, and know, 
I am dishonoured if the Duke escape us. 

* We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the 
mouth of any character. — T. 

D D 2 



i04 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT Vf 

GORDON. 



O ! to save such a man- 



BUTLER. 

What! 

GORDON. 

It is worth 
A sacrifice. Come, friend ! Be noble-minded ! 
Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, 
Forms our true honour. 

butler (with a cold and haughty air). 
He is a great Lord, 
This Duke — and I am but of mean importance. 
This is what you would say ! Wherein concerns it 
The world at large, you mean to hint to me, 
Whether the man of low extraction keeps 
Or blemishes his honour — 
So that the man of princely rank be saved ? 
We all do stamp our value on ourselves : 
The price we challenge for ourselves is given us. 
There does not live on earth the man so station'd, 
That I despise myself compared with him. 
Man is made great or little by his own will ; 
Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies. 

GORDON. 

I am endeavouring to move a rock. 

Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings. 

I cannot hinder you, but may some God 

Eescue him from you ! [Exit Gordon. 

butler* (alone). 
I treasured my good name all my life long ; 
The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel, 
So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon ! 
He prizes above all his fealty ; 
His conscious soul accuses him of nothing ; 
In opposition to his own soft heart , 
He subjugates himself to an iron duty. 

* [This soliloquy, which, according to the former arrangement, constitute J 
the whole of Scene IX., and concluded the Fourth Act, is omitted in all the 
printed German editions. It seems probable that it existed in the origiaal 
manuscript from which Mr. Coleridge translated. — Ed.] 



S3 IX.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 405 

Me in a weaker moment passion warp'd ; 
I stand beside him, and must feel myself 
The worse man of the two. What, though the world 
Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet 
One man does know it, and can prove it too — 
High-minded Piccolomini ! 
There lives the man who can dishonour me ! 
This ignominy blood alone can cleanse ! 
Duke Friedland, thou or I — Into my own hands 
Fortune delivers me — The dearest thing a man has is him- 
self. 

Scene IX. 

A Gothic and gloomy Apartment at the Duchess Friedland 's. 
Thekla on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. The Duchess and 
Lady Neubrunn busied about her. Wallenstein and the 
Countess in conversation. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

How knew she it so soon ? 

COUNTESS. 

She seems to have 
Foreboded some misfortune. The report 
Of an engagement, in the which had fallen 
A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her. 
I saw it instantly. She flew to meet 
The Swedish courier, and with sudden questioning, 
Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret. 
Too late we missed her, hasten'd after her, 
We found her lying in his arms, all pale 
And in a swoon. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

A heavy, heavy blow ! 
And she so unprepared ! Poor child ! how is it ? 

[Turning to the Duohesp. 
Is she coming to herself? 

DUCHESS. 

Her eyes are opening 

COUNTESS. 

She lives • 

thekla {looking around her). 
Where ami? 



406 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IV 

wallenstein (steps to her, raising her up in his arms) 
Come, cheerly, Thekla ! be my own brave girl ! 
See, there's thy loving mother. Thou art in 
Thy father's arms. 

thekla (standing up). 
Where is he ? Is he gone ? 

DUCHESS. 

Who gone, my daughter? 

THEKLA. 

He — the man who utter'd 
That word of misery 

DUCHESS. 

! think not of it, 
My Thekla ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Give her sorrow leave to talk ! 
Let her complain — mingle your tears with hers, 
For she hath suffer'd a deep anguish ; but 
She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla 
Hath all her father's unsubdued heart. 

THEKLA. 

I am not ill. See, I have power to stand. 

Why does my mother weep ? Have I alarm 'd her ? 

It is gone by — I recollect myself — 

[She casts her eyes round the room, as seeking some one 
Where is he ? Please you, do not hide him from me. 
You see I have strength enough : now I will hear him 

DUCHESS. 

No ; never shall this messenger of evil 
Enter again into thy presence, Thekla ! 

THEKLA 

My father — 

WALLENSTEIN 

Dearest daughter ! 

THEKLA. 

I'm not weak — 
Shortly I shall be quite myself again. 
You'll grant me one request ? 



SC. IX. J THE DEATH OF WALLEjnSTEIN. 40" 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Name it, my daughter 

THEKLA. 

Permit the stranger to be called to me, 
And grant me leave, that by myself I may 
Hear his report and question him. 

DUCHESS. 

No, never i 

COUNTESS. 

Tis not advisable — assent not to it. 

WAELENSTEIN 

Hush ! Wherefore wouldst thou speak with him, tuy 
daughter ? 

THEKLA. 

Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected ; 
I will not be deceived. My mother wishes 
Only to spare me. I will not be spared — 
The worst is said already : I can hear 
Nothing of deeper anguish ! 

countess and duchess. 
Do it not. 

THEKLA. 

The horror overpower 'd me by surprise. 

My heart betray d me in the stranger's presence • 

He was a witness of my weakness, yea, 

I sank into his arms ; and that has shamed me. 

I must replace myself in his esteem, 

And I must speak with him, perforce, that he, 

The stranger, may not think ungently of me. 

WALLENSTETN. 

I see she is in the right, and am inclined 

To grant her this request of hers. Go, call him. 

[Lady Neubrunn goes to call him 

DUCHESS. 

But I, thy mother, will be present — 

THEKLA. 

Twere 
More pleasing to me, if alone I saw him ; 
Trust me, I shall behave myself the more 
Collected] v 



108 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. |ACT tV. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Permit her her own will. 
Leave her alone with him : for there are sorrows, 
Where of necessity the soul must be 
Its own support. A strong heart will rely 
On its own strength alone. In her own bosom, 
Not in her mother's arms, must she collect 
The strength to rise superior to this blow. 
It is mine own brave girl. I'll have her treated 
Not as the woman, but the heroine. [Going. 

countess {detaining him). 
Where art thou going ? I heard Terzky say 
That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence 
To-morrow early, but to leave us here. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Yes, ye stay here, placed under the protection 
Of gallant men. 

COUNTESS. 

# take us with you, brother ! 

Leave us not. in this gloomy solitude 
To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt 
Magnify evils to a shape of horror. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Who speaks of evil ? I entreat you, sister, 
Use words of better omen. 

COUNTESS. 

Then take us with you. 

leave us not behind you in a place 
That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy 
And sick within me is my heart 

These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault. 

1 cannot tell you, brother, how this place 
Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 
Come, sister, join you your entreaty ! Niece, 
Yours too. We all entreat you, take us with you ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The place's evil omens will I change, 

Making it that which shields and shelters for me 

My best beloved. 



SO. X J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 409 

lady neubrunn (returning). 
The Swedish officer. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Leave her alone with me. 

duchess (to thekla, who starts and shivers) 
There — pale as death ! Child, 'tis impossible 
That thou shouldst speak with him. Follow thy mother. 

THEKLA. 

The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me. 

[Exeunt Duchess and Countess 

Scene X. 

Thekla, the Swedish Captain, Lady Neubrunn 

captain (respectfully approaching her). 
Princess — I must entreat your gentle pardon — 
My inconsiderate rash#speech. How could I — 

thekla (with dignity). 
You have beheld me in my agony. 
A most distressful accident occasion'd 
You from a stranger to become at once 
My confidant. 

CAPTAIN. 

I fear you hate my presence, 
For my tongue spake a melancholy word. 

thekla. 
The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from you. 
The horror which came o'er me interrupted 
Your tale at its commencement. May it please you, 
Continue it to the end. 



Eenew your anguish. 



CAPTAIN. 

Princess, 'twill 



thekla. 

I am firm, 

I will be firm. Well — how began the engagement? 

captain. 
We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt, 
Entrench'd but insecurely in our camp, 



410 THE DEATH OF WAlLENSTEIN. [ACT IV 

When towards evening rose a cloud of dust 
From the wood thitherward : our vanguard fled 
Into the camp, and sounded the alarm. 
Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers, 
Their horses at full speed, broke through the lines, 
And leapt the trenches ; but their heedless courage 
Had borne them onward far before the others — 
The infantry were still at distance, only 
The Pappenheimers follow'd daringly 

Their daring leader 

[Thekla betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer 
pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed. 

CAPTAIN. 

Both in van and flanks 

With our whole cavalry we now received them ; 

Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot 

Stretch'd out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them. 

They neither could advance, nor yet retreat ; 

And as they stood on every side wedged iu, 

The Ehinegrave to their leader eall'd aloud, 

Inviting a surrender ; but their leader, 

Young Piccolomini 

[Thekla, as giddy, grasps a chair. 
Known by his plume, 

And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches ; 

Himself leapt first : the regiment all plunged after. 

His charger, by a halbert gored, rear'd up, 

Flung him with violence off, and over him 

The horses, now no longer to be curbed, 

[Thekla, who has accompanied the last speech with all 
the marks of increasing agony, trembles through her 
whole frame, and is falling. The Lady Neubrunn 
runs to her, and receives her in her arms. 

NEUBRUNN. 

My dearest lady 

CAPTAIN. 

I retire 

THEKLA. 

'Tis ovor. 
Proceed to the conclusion. 



SC X.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 411 

CAPTAIN. 

Wild despair 
Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw 
Their leader perish ; every thought of rescue 
Was spurned ; they fought like wounded tigers ; their 
Frantic resistance roused our soldiery ; 
A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 
Finish'd before their last man fell. 

thekla [faltering). 

And where 

Where is — You have not told me all. 

captain (after a pause). 

This morning 
We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth 
Did bear him to interment ; the whole army 
Follow'd the bier. A laurel deck'd his coffin ; 
The sword of the deceased was placed upon it, 
In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self. 
Nor tears were wanting ; for there are among us 
Many, who had themselves experienced 
The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners ; 
All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave 
Would willingly have saved him ; but himself 
Made vain the attempt — 'tis said he wish'd to die. 

neubkunn (to thekla, who has hidden her countenance) 
Look up, my dearest lady 

THEKLA. 

Where is his grave ? 

CAPTAIN. 

At Neustadt, lady ; in a cloister church 

Are his remains deposited, until 

We can receive directions from his father. 

THEKLA. 

What is the cloister's name ? 

CAPTAIN. 

Saint Catherines. 

THEKLA. 

And how far is it thither? 

CAPTAIN. 

Near twelve leagues. 



4 1 2 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT IV* 

THEKLA. 

And which the way ? 

CAPTAIN. 

You go by Tirschenreut 
And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts. 

THEKLA. 

Who 
Is their commander ? 

CAPTAIN. 

Colonel Seckendorf. 
[Thekla steps to the table, and takes a ring from a 
casket. 

THEKLA. 

You have beheld me in my agony, 

And shown a feeling heart. Please you, accept 

[Giving him the ring. 
A small memorial of this hour. Now go ! 

captain (confusedly). 

Princess 

[Thekla silently makes signs to him to go, and turns 
from him. The Captain lingers, and is about to 
speak. Lady Neubrunn repeats the signal, and he 
retires. 

Scene XI. 
Thekla, Lady Neubrunn. 

THEKLA (falls On LADY NEUBRUNN 's neck). 

Now, gentle Neubrunn, show me the affection 
Which thou hast ever promised — prove thyself 
My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim. 
This night we must away ! 

NEUBRUNN. 

Away ! and whither ? 

THEKLA. 

Whither ! There is but one place in the world. 
Thither, where he lies buried ! To Lis coffin ! 

NEUBRUNN. 

What would you do there ? 



CC. XI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEitf. 4 IS 

THEKLA. 

What do there ? 
That wouldst thou not have ask'd, hadst thou e'ei loved. 
There, there is all that still remains of him ! 
That single spot is the whole earth to me. 

NEUBEUNN. 

That place of death 

THEKLA. 

Is now the only place 
Where life yet dwells for me : detain me not ! 
Gome and make preparations ; let us think 
Of means to fly from hence. 

NEUBEUNN. 

Your father's rage * 

THEKLA. 

That time is past 

And now I fear no human being's rage. 

NEUBEUNN. 

The sentence of the world ! The tongue of calumny ! 

THEKLA. 

Whom am I seeking ? Him who is no more. 

Am I then hastening to the arms O God ! 

I haste but to the grave of the beloved. 

NEUBEUNN. 

And we alone, two helpless feeble women ? 

THEKLA. 

We will take weapons : my arm shall protect thee. 

NEUBEUNN. 

In the dark night-time ? 

THEKLA. 

Darkness will conceal us 

NEUBEUNN. 

This rough tempestuous night 

THEKLA. 

Had he a soft bed 
Under the hoofs of his war-horses ? 

NEUBEUNN. 

Heaven ! 
And then the many posts of the enemy ! 



4 1.4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [AC V IV. 

THEKLA. 

They are human beings, Misery travels free 
Through the whole earth. 

NEUBRUNN. 

The journey's weary length 

THEKLA. 

The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine 

Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. 

NEUBRUNN. 

How can we pass the gates ? 

THEKLA. 

Gold opens them. 
Go, do but go. 

NEUBRUNN. 

Should we be recognised 

THEKLA. 

In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, 

Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland. 

NEUBRUNN. 

And where procure we horses for our flight ? 

THEKLA. 

My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him. 

NEUBRUNN. 

Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord ? 

THEKLA. 

He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer. 

NEUBRUNN. 

Dear lady ! and your mother ? 

THEKLA. 

Oh ! my mother ! 

NEUBRUNN. 

So much as she has suffer 'd too already ; 
Your tender mother — Ah ! how ill prepared 
For this last anguish ! 

THEKLA. 

Woe is me ! my mother ! 

[Pauses 
Go instantly. 



SJ XII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN iib 

NEUBRUNN. 

But think what you are doing! 

THEKLA. 

What can be thought, already has been thought, 

NEUBRtttN. 

And being there, what purpose you to do ? 

THEKLA. 

There a Divinity will prompt my soul. 

NEUBRUNN. 

Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted ! 

And this is not the way that leads to quiet, 

THEKLA. 

To a deep quiet, such as he has found. 

It draws me on, I know not what to name it, 

Resistless does it draw me to his grave. 

There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow. 

hasten, make no further questioning ! 
There is no rest for me till I have left 
These walls — they fall in on me — a dim power 
Drives me from hence — Oh mercy ! What a feeling i 
What pale and hollow forms are those ! They fill, 
They crowd the place ! I have no longer room here ! 
Mercy ! Still more ! More still ! The hideous swarm . 
They press on me ; they chase me from these walls — 
Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men ! 

NEUBRUNN. 

You frighten me so, lady, that no longer 

1 dare stay here myself. I go and call 

Eosenberg instantly. [Exit Lady Neubrunn. 

Scene XII. 

THEKLA. 

His spirit 'tis that calls me : 'tis the troop 

Of his true followers, who offer 'd up 

Themselves to avenge his death : and they accuse me 

Of an ignoble loitering — they would not 

Forsake their leader even in his death — they died for hiiw 

And shall I live ? — 

For me too was that laurel-garland twined 

That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket : 



£16 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACTIY. 

I throw it from rne. ! my only hope ; — 
To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds — 
That is the lot of heroes upon earth ! 

[Exit Thekla*, 
(The Curtain drops.) 

Scene XIII. 

Thekla, Lady Neubbunn, and Rosenberg. 

[neubrunn. 
He is here lady, and he will procure them. 

thekla. 
Wilt thou provide us horses, Rosenberg? 

ROSENBERG. 

I will, my lady. 

THEKLA. 

And go with us as well ? 

ROSENBERG. 

To the world's end, my lady. 

THEKLA. 

But consider, 
Thou never canst return unto the Duke. 

ROSENBERG. 

I will remain with thee. 

THEKLA. 

I will' reward thee, 
And will commend thee to another master, 
Canst thou unseen conduct us from the castle ? 

ROSENBERG. 

I can. 

THEKLA. 

When can I go ? 

ROSENBERG. 

This very hour. 
But whither would you, Lady ? 

THEKLA. 

To- Tell him, Neubrunn. 

* The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty lines, 
twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent 
to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubruna 
raitfht, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play. — C. 



8C. Xf/.j THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 417 

NEUBEUNN. 

To Neustadt. 

EOSENBEEG. 

So ; — I leave you to get ready. [Exit 

NEUBEUNN. 

see, your mother comes. 

THEKLA. 

Indeed ! Heav'n ! 

Scene XIV. 
Thekla, Lady Neubeunn, the Duchess. 

DUCHESS. 

He's gone ! I find thee more composed, my child 

THEKLA. 

1 am so, mother ; let me only now 

Retire to rest, and Neubrunn here be with me. 
I want repose. 

DUCHESS. 

My Thekla, thou shalt have it. 
I leave thee now consoled, since I can calm \ 

Thy father's heart. 

THEKLA. 

Good night, beloved mother ! 
(Falling on her neck and embracing her with deejj emotiop 

DUCHESS. 

Thou scarcely art composed e'en now, my daughter. 
Thou tremblest strongly, and I feel thy heart 
Beat audibly on mine. 

THEKLA. 

Sleep will appease 
Its beating : now good night, good night, dear mother.]] 
(As she withdraws from her mothers arms the curtain fall 



ACT V. 

Scene I. 

Butler's Chamber. 

Butlee, and Majoe Geealdin. 

BUTLER. 

Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them with pikes, 
For there must be no firing 

E K 



4] 8 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

Conceal them somewhere near the banquet-room, 
And soon as the dessert is served up, rush all in 
And cry — " Who is loyal to the Emperor ! " 
I will overturn the table — while you attack 
Illo and Terzky, and despatch them both. 
The castle-palace is well barr'd and guarded, 
That no intelligence of this proceeding 
May make its way to the Duke. Go instantly ; 
Have you yet sent for Captain Devereux 
And the Macdonald ? 

GERALDIN. 

They'll be here anon. 

[Exit Geraldih 

BUTLER 

Here's no room for delay. The citizens 
Declare for him, a dizzy drunken spirit 
Possesses the whole town. They see in the Duke 
A Prince of peace, a founder of new ages 
And golden times. Arms too have been given out 
By the town-council, and a hundred citizens 
Have volunteered themselves to stand on guard. 
Despatch! then, be the word; for enemies 
Threaten us from without and from within. 

Scene II. 
Butleb, Captain Devekeux, and Macdonald. 

MACDONALD. 

Here we are, Genera. 

DEVEREUX. 

What's to be the watcnword ? 

BUTLER. 

Long live the Emperor ! 

both (recoiling). 
How? 

BUTLER. 

Live the House of Austria 

DEVEREUX. 

Ha\e we not sworn fidelity to Friedland? 

MACDONALD. 

Have we not march'd to this place to protect him V 



6C IT.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 4J9 

BUTLER. 

Protect a traitor, and his country's enemy ? 

DEVEREUX. 

Why, yes ! in his name you administer'd 
Our oath 

MACDONALD. 

And follow'd him yourself to Egra. 

BUTLER 

I did it the more surely to destroy him 

DEVEREUX. 

So then ! 

MACDONALD. 

An alter'd case ! 

BUTLER (tO DEVEREUX). 

Thou wretched man 
So easily leavest thou thy oath and colours ? 

DEVEREUX. 

The devil ! — I but follow'd your example, 
If you could prove a villain, why not we ? 

MACDONALD. 

We've nought to do with thinking — that s your business. 
You are our General, and give out the orders ; 
We follow you, though the track lead to hell. 

butler (appeased) 
Good then ! we know each other. 

MACDONALD- 

I should hope so. 

DEVEREUX. 

Soldiers of fortune are we — who bids most, 
He has us. 

MACDONALD. 

'Tis e'en so ! 

BUTLER. 

Well, for the present 
Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers. 

DEVEREUX. 

We wish no other. 

BUTLER 

Ay, and make your fortunes. 

IS B 2 



423 THE DFATH OF WALLENSTEIN. ; AC 

MACD0\ T 1LD. 

That is still better. 

Listen ! 

BOTH. 

We attend. 

BUTLER. 

It is the Emperor's will and ordinance 

To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland. 

Alive or dead. 

DEVEREUX. 

It inns so in the letter. 

MACDONALD. 

Alive or dead — these were the very words 

BUTLER. 

And he shall be rewarded from the State 
In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto 

DEVEREUX. 

Ay ! that sounds well. The words sound always we'll 
That travel hither from the Court. Yes ! yes ! 
We know already what Court-words import. 
A golden chain perhaps in sign of favour, 
Or an old charger, or a parchment patent, 
And such like. — The Prince-Duke pays better. 

MACDONALD. 



The Duke's a splendid paymaster. 

BUTLER. 

All over 
With that, my friends ! His lucky stars are set 

MACDONALD. 

And is that certain ! 

BUTLER. 

You have my word for it 

DEVEREUX. 

His lucky fortunes all past by? 

BUTLER. 

For ever 
He is as poor as we. 

MACDONALD. 

As poor as we ? 



Yes, 



«C. It. THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 421 

DEVEBEUX 

Macdonald, well desert him. 

BUTLEB. 

We'll desert him ? 
Full twenty thousand have done that already ; 
We must do more, my countrymen ! In short — 
We — we must kill him. 

both (starting back). 
Kill him! 

BUTLEB. 

Yes, must kill him ; 
And for that purpose have I chosen you. 
both. 

Us! 

BUTLEB. 

You, Captain Devereux, and thee, Macdonald. 

devebeux (after a pause). 
Choose you some other. 

BUTLEB. 

What ! art dastardly \ 
Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for — 
Thou conscientious of a sudden ? 

DEVEBEUX. 

Nay 
To assassinate our Lord and General 

MACDONALD. 

To whom we've sworn a soldier's oath 

BUTLEB. 

The oath 
Is null, for Friedland is a traitor. 

DEVEBEUX. 

No, no ! it is too bad ! 

MACDONALD. 

Yes, by my soul ! 
It is too bad. One has a conscience too— - 

DEVEBEUX. 

If it were not our Chieftain, who so long 

Has issued the commands, and claim 'd our duty— 

BUTLEB. 

Is that ti e objection ? 



422 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN. [ACT 

DEVEREUX. 

Were it my own father, 
And the Emperor's service should demand it of me, 
It might be done perhaps — But we are soldiers, 
And to assassinate our Chief Commander, 
That is a sin, a foul abomination, 
From which no monk or confessor absolves us. 

BUTLER. 

I am your Pope, and give you absolution. 
Determine quickly! 

DEVEREUX. 

'Twill not do 

MACDONALD. 

'Twon't do ! 

BUTLER. 

Well, off then ! and — send Pestalutz to me. 

devereux (hesitates). 
The Pestalutz 

MACDONALD. 

What may you want with him t 

BUTLER. 

If you reject it, we can find enough — 

DEVEREUX. 

Nay, if he must fall, we may earn the bounty 
As well as any other. What think you, 
Brother Macdonald? 

MACDONALD. 

Why, if he must fail, 
And will fall, and it can't be otherwise, 
One would not give place to this Pestalutz. 

devereux (after some reflection). 
When do you purpose he should fall? 

BUTLER. 

This night. 
To-morrow will the Swedes be at our gates. 

devereux. 
You take upon you all the consequences ? 

BUTLER. 

I take the whole upon me. 



SC [r.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 4 '^8 

DEVEEEUX. 

And it is 
The Emperor's will, his express absolute will ? 
For we have instances, that folks may like 
The murder, and yet hang the murderer. 

BUTLEE. 

The manifesto says — " alive or dead." 
Alive — 'tis not possible — you see it is not. 

DEVEEEUX. 

Well, dead then ! dead ! But how can we come at him 
The town is filled with Terzky's soldiery. 

MACDONALD, 

Ay ! and then Terzky still remains, and Illo 

BUTLEE. 

With these you shall begin — you understand me ? 

DEVEEEUX. 

How ! And must they too perish ? 

BUTLEE. 

They the first. 

MACDONALD. 

Hear, Devereux ! A bloody evening this. 

DEVEEEUX. 

Have you a man for that? Commission me — 

BUTLEE. 

'Tis given in trust to Major Geraldin ; 
This is a carnival night, and there's a feast 
Given at the castle — there we shall surprise them, 
And hew them down. The Pestalutz and Lesley 
Have that commission. Soon as that is finish'd — 

DEVEEEUX. 

Hear, General ! It will be all one to you — 
Hark ye, let me exchange with Geraldin. 

BUTLEE. 

Twill be the lesser danger with the Duke. 

DEVEEEUX. 

Danger ! The devil ! What do you think me, General ? 
Tis the Duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear 

BUTLEE 

What can his eye do to thee ? 



4*24 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEJN, [ACT * 

DEVEREUX. 

Death and hell! 
Thou know'st that I'm no milksop, General ! 
But 'tis not eight days since the Duke did send me 
Twenty gold pieces for this good warm coat 
Which I have on ! and then for him to see me 
Standing before him with the pike, his murderer, 
That eye of his looking upon this coat — 
Why— why — the devil fetch me ! I'm no milksop ! 

BUTLER. 

The Duke presented thee this good warm coat, 

And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of conscience 

To run him through the body in return. 

A coat that is far better and far warmer 

Did the Emperor give to him, the Prince's mantle. 

How doth he thank the Emperor ? With revolt, 

And treason. 

DEVEREUX. 

That is true. The devil take 
Such thankers! Ill despatch him. 

BUTLER. 

And would'st quiet 
Thy conscience, thou hast nought to do but simply 
Pull off the coat ; so canst thou do the deed 
With light heart and good spirits. 

DEVEREUX. * 

You are right. 
That did not strike me. I'll pull off the coat — 
So there's an end of it. 

MACDONALD. 

Yes, but there's another 
Point to be thought of. 

BUTLER. 

And what's that, Macdonald 9 

MACDONALD. 

What avails sword or dagger against him P 
He is not to be wounded — he is — 

butler {starting up). 

What? 

MACDONALD . 

Safe against shot, and stab, and flash ! Hard frozen. 



?C. II. J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. 425 

Secured and warranted by the black art ! 
His body is impenetrable, I tell you. 

DEVEKEUX. 

In Ingo .stadt there was just such another : 

His whole skin was the same as steel ; at last 

We were obliged to beat him down with gunstocke, 

MACDONALD. 

Hear what I'll do. 

DEVEREUX. 

Well. 

MACDONALD. 

In the cloister hero 
There's a Dominican, my countryman. 
Ill make him dip my sword and pike for me 
In holy water, and say over them 
One of his strongest blessings. That's probatum ! 
Nothing can stand 'gainst that. 

BUTLER 

So do, Macdonald ! 
But now go and select from out the regiment 
Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows, 
And let them take the oaths to the Emperor. 
Then when it strikes eleven, when the first rounds 
Are pass'd, conduct them silently as may be 
To the house— I will myself be not far off. 

DEVEREUX. 

But how do we get through Hartschier and Gordon, 
That stand on guard there in the inner chamber ? 

BUTLER 

I have made myself acquainted with the place, 
I lead you through a back door that's defended 
By one man only. Me my rank and office 
Give access to the Duke at every hour. 
I'll go before you — with one poniard-stroke 
Cut Hartschier 's windpipe, and make way for you. 

DEVEREUX. 

And when we are there, by what means shall we gain 
The Duke's bed-chamber, without his alarming 
The servants of the Court : for he has here 
A numerous company of followers ? 



42(5 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

BUTLEB. 

The attendants fill the right wing : he hates bustle, 
And lodges in the left wing quite alone. 

DEVEEEUX. 

Were it well over— hey, Macdonald? I 
Feel queerly on the occasion, devil know?. ! 

MACDONALD. 

And I too. Tis too great a personage. 
People will hold us for a brace of villains. 

BUTLEK. 

In plenty, honour, splendour — you may safely 
Laugh at the people's babble. 

DEVEEEUX. 

If the business 
Squares with one's honour — if that be quite certain — 

BUTLER. 

Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for Ferdinand 
His crown and empire. The reward can be 
No small one. 

DEVEEEUX. 

And 'tis his purpose to dethrone the Emperor? 

BUTLER. 

Yes ! — Yes ! — to rob him of his crown and life. 

DEVEEEUX. 

And he must fall by the executioner's hands. 
Should we deliver him up to the Emperor 
Alive ? 

BUTLEE. 

It were his certain destiny. 

DEVEEEUX. 

Well ! Well ! Come then, Macdonald, he shall not 
Lie long in pain. 

[Exeunt Butlee through one door, Macdonald 
Deveeeux through the other. 

Scene III. 

A Saloon, terminated by a Gallery ivhich extends far into the 

background. 

Wallenstein sitting at a table. The Swedish Captain 

standing before him. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Commend me to your lord. I sympathize 



r IH.J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEln. 427 

In his good fortune ; and if you have seen me 

Deficient in the expressions of that joy, 

Which such a victory might well demand, 

Attribute it to no lack of good will, 

For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell, 

And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow 

The citadel shall be surrender 'd to you 

On your arrival. 

[The Swedish Captain retires. Wallenstein sits 
lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his 
head sustained by his hand. The Countess 
Terzky enters, stands before him for awhile, un- 
observed by him ; at length he starts, sees her and 
recollects himself. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Comest thou from her ? Is she restored ? How is she ? 

COUNTESS. 

My sister tells me, si? a was more collected 
After her conversati 1 with the Swede. 
She has now retirea co rest. 



She will shed tears. 



WALLENSTEIN. 

The pang will soften, 



COUNTESS. 

I find thee alter 'd too. 
My brother ! After such a victory 
I had expected to have found in thee 
A cheerful spirit. remain thou firm ! 
Sustain, uphold us ! For our light thou art, 
Our sun. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's 
Thy husband ? 

COUNTESS. 

At a banquet — he and Illo. 

wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon). 
The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber 

COUNTESS. 

Bid me not go, let me stay with thee ! 



♦ 28 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

wallenstein (moves to the window). 
There is a busy motion in the Heaven, 
The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower, 
Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle * of the moon, 
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light. 
No form of star is visible ! That one 
White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, 
Is from Cassiopeia, and therein 
Is Jupiter. [A pause). But now 
The blackness of the troubled element hides him ! 

[He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks 
vacantly into the distance. 
countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand). 
What art thou brooding on ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Methinks, 
If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. 
He is the star of my nativity, 
And often marvellously hath his aspect 
Shot strength into my heart. 

COUNTESS. 

Thou'lt see him again. 
wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then as- 
sumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the 
Countess). 
See him again ? never, never again ! 

* These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity. 

Am Himmel ist geschaftige Bewegung. 

Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht 

Der Wolken Zug, die Mondessichel wanht, 

Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle. 
The word " moon-sickle/' reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted 
by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened part of the 
moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is 
moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the 
full : but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and 
the dark falcated." 

The words " wanken " and " schweben " are not easily translated. The 
English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pe- 
dantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So " der Wolken Zug " — 
The Draft, the Procession of clouds. — The Masses of the Clouds sweep on* 
ward in swift stream. 



Sn U£!.l THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. V<M 

COUNTESS. 

How? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

He is gone — is dust. 

COUNTESS. 

Whom meanest thou, then ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

H^, the more fortunate ! yea, he hath finish'd ! 

For him there is no longer any future, 

His life is bright — bright without spot it was. 

And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour 

Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap, 

Far off is he, above desire and fear ; 

No more submitted to the change and chance 

Of the unsteady planets. 'tis well 

With him ! but who knows what the coming hour 

Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us? 

COUNTESS. 

Thou speakest 
Of Piccolomini. What was his death ? 
The courier had just left thee as I came. 

[Wallenstein by a motion of his hand makes signs to 
her to be silent. 
Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view, 
Let us look forward into sunny days, 
Welcome with joyous heart the victory, 
Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, 
For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead ; 
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee. 

wallenstein. 
This anguish will be wearied down*, I know ; 
What pang is permanent with man ? From the highest, 
As from the vilest thing of every day, 
He learns to wean himself : for the stroug hours 

* A very inadequate translation of the original : — 

Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss icli, 
Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch ! 

LITERALLY. 

I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious : 
"What does not man grieve down ? 



430 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. ] ACT V. 

Conquer Lim. Yet I feel what I have lost 
In him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life 
For ! he stood beside me, like my youth, 
Transform 'd for me the real to a dream, 
Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
With golden exhalations of the dawn. 
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils s 
The beautiful is vanished — and returns not. 

COUNTESS. 

be not treacherous to thy own power. 
Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 
Itself. Thou lovest and prizest virtues in him, 
The which thyself didst plant, thyself unfold. 
wallenstein (stepping to the door). 
Who interrupts us now at this late hour ? 
It is the Governor. He brings the keys 
Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister ! 

COUNTESS. 

'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee- 
A boding fear possesses me ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Fear! Wherefore? 

COUNTESS. 

Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at waking 
Never more find thee ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Fancies ! 

COUNTESS. 

my soul 
Has long been weigh'd down by these dark forebodings 
And if I combat and repel them waking, 
They still crush down upon my heart in dreams. 

1 saw thee yesternight with thy first wife 
Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attired. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

This was a dream of favourable omen, 

That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. 

COUNTESS, 

To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee 
In thy own chamber. As I- enter 'd, lo ! 



\ III.l THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 431 

It was no more a chamber : the Chartreuse 

At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded, 

And where it is thy will that thou should'st be 

Interr'd. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Thy soul is busy with these thoughts 

COUNTESS. 

What ! dost thou not believe that oft in dreams 
A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

There is no doubt that there exist such voices 

Yet I would not call them 

Voices of warning that announce to us 

Only the inevitable. As the sun, 

Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image 

In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits 

Of great events stride on before the events, 

And in to-day already walks to-morrow. 

That which we read of the fourth Henry's death 

Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale 

Of my own future destiny. The king 

Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, 

Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. 

His quiet mind forsook him : the phantasma 

Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth 

Into the open air : like funeral knells 

Sounded that coronation festival ; 

And still with boding sense he heard the tread 

Of those feet that even then were seeking him 

Throughout the streets of Paris. 

COUNTESS. 

And to thee 
The voice within thy soul bodes nothing? 

WALLENSTEIN 

Nothing. 
Be wholly tranquil. 

COUNTESS. 

And another time 
I hasten'd after thee, and thou rann'st from me 
Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall. 
There seem'd no end of it : doors creak'd and clapp'd; 



43$ THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. TacT V. 

I follow'd panting, but could not o'ertake thee ; 

When on a sudden did I feel myself 

Grasp'd from behind — the hand was cold that grasped me— 

'Twas thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seernd 

A crimson covering to envelop us. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 

countess (gazing on him). 
If it should come to that — if I should see thee, 
Who standest now before me in the fulness 
Of life — [She falls on his breast and weeps 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee — 
Alphabets wound not — and he finds no hands. 

COUNTESS. 

If he should find them, my resolve is taken — 
I bear about me my support and refuge. 

[Exit Countess. 

Scene IV. 
Wallenstein, Gordon, 
wallenstein. 
All quiet in the town ? 

GORDON. 

The town is quiet 

WALLENSTEIN. 

I hear a boisterous music ! and the Castle 
Is lighted up. Who are the revellers ? 

GORDON. 

There is a banquet given at the Castle 

To the Count Terzky, and Field Marshal Illo. 

WALLENSTEIN 

In honour of the victory — This tribe 

Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting. 

[Rings. The Groom of the Chamber enters 
Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep. 

[Wallenstein takes the keys from Gordon 
So we are guarded from all enemies, 
> And shut in with sure friends. 



2. TV.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 4'33 

For all must cheat me, or a face like this 

[Fixing his eye on Gokdon 
Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask. 

[The Groom of the Chamber takes off his mantle, 
collar, and scarf. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Take care — what is that ? 

GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. 

The golden chain is snapped. in two. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Well, it has lasted long enough. Here — give it. 

[He takes and looks at the chain. 

'Twas the first present of the Emperor. 

He hang it round me in the war of Friule, 

He being then Archduke ; and I have worn it 

Till now from habit 

From superstition, if you will. Belike, 

It was to be a talisman to me ; 

And while I wore it on my neck in faith, 

It was to chain to me all my life long 

The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was. 

Well, be it so ! Henceforward a new fortune 

Must spring up for me ; for the potency 

Of this charm is dissolved. 

[Groom of the Chamber retires with the vestments. 
Wallenstein rises, takes a stride across the room, 
and sta?ids at last before Gordon in a posture oj 
meditation. 

How the old time returns upon me ! I 

Behold myself once more at Burgau, where 

We two were Pages of the Court together 

We oftentimes disputed : thy intention 

Was ever good ; but thou wert wont to play 

The Moralist and Preacher, and wouldst rail at ine^ 

That I strove after things too high for me, 

Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams, 

And still extol to me the golden mean. 

— Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend 

To thy own self. S ^e, it has made thee early 

A superannuated ma \, and (but 

F F 



4:34 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

That my munificent stars will intervene) 
Would let thee in some miserable corner 
Go out like an untended lamp. 

GORDON. 

z My Prince ! 

With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, 
And watches from the shore the lofty ship 
Stranded amid the storm. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Art thou already 
In harbour then, old man ? Well ! I am not. 
The unconquer'd spirit drives me o'er life's billows ; 
My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. 
Hope is my goddess still, and Youth my inmate ; 
And while we stand thus front to front almost 
I might presume to say, that the swift years 
Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair. 

[He moves with long strides across the Saloon, and 
remains on the opposite side over against Gordon. 
Who now persists in calling Fortune false ? 
To me she has proved faithful ; with fond love 
Took me from out the common ranks of men, 
And like a mother goddess, with strong arm 
Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. 
Nothing is common in my destiny, 
Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares 
Interpret then my life for me as 'twere 
One of the undistinguishable many ? 
True, in this present moment I appear 
Fallen low indeed ; but I shall rise again. 
The high flood will soon follow on this ebb ; 
The fountain of my fortune, which now stops 
Repress'd and bound by some malicious star, 
Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes. 

GORDON. 

Ajid yet remember I the good old proverb, 
" Let the night come before we praise the day." 
I would be slow from long-continued fortune 
To gather hope : for Hope is the companion 
Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven. 



SC V.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 485 

Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men : 
For still unsteady are the scales of fate. 

wallenstein (smiling). 
I hear the very Gordon that of old 
Was wont to preach, now once more preaching ; 

know well, that all sublunary things 
Are still the vassals of vicissitude. 
The unpropitious gods demand their tribute 
This long ago the ancient Pagans knew : 
Arjd therefore of their own accord they offer'd 
To themselves injuries, so to atone 
The jealousy of their divinities : 
And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. 

[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner 
I too have sacrificed to him — For me 
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault 
He fell ! No joy from favourable fortune 
Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. 
The envy of my destiny is glutted : 
Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning 
Was drawn off which would else have shatter'd me. 

Scene V. 

To these enter Seni. 
wallenstein. 
Is not that Seni ! and beside himself, 
If one may trust his looks ? What brings thee hither 
At this late hour, Baptista ? 

SENI. 

Terror, Duke ! 
On thy account. 

wallenstein. 
What now? 

SENI. 

Flee ere the day-break 1 
Trust not thy person to the Swedes ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What now 
Is in thy thoughts ? 

h f 2 



436 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V, 

se^ni (with louder voice). 
Trust not thy person to the Swedes. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

What is it, then ? 
seni (still more urgently). 

wait not the arrival of these Swedes ! 
An evil near at hand is threatening thee 

From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror ! 
Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition — 
Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee ! 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Baptista, thou art dreaming ! — Fear befools thee. 

SENI. 

Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. 
Come, read it in the planetary aspects ; 
Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee 
From false friends. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

From the falseness of my friends 
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. 
The warning should have come before ! At present 

1 need no revelation from the stars 
To know that 

SENI. 

Come and see ! trust thine own eyes ! 
A fearful sign stands in the house of life — 
An enemy ; a fiend lurks close behind 
The radiance of thy planet. — be warn'd ! 
Deliver not up thyself to these heathens, 
To wage a vur against our holy church. 

wallenstein (laughing gently j. 
The oracie rails that way ! Yes, yes ! Now 
I recollect. This junction with the Swedes 
Did never please thee — lay thyself to sleep, 
Baptista ! Signs like these I do not fear. 
ookdon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks 
of extreme agitation, and now turns to wallenstein j. 
My Duke and General ! May I dare presume ? 

wallenstein 
Bpeak freely 



BO v] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 437 

GORDON. 

What if 'twere no mere creation 
Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed 
To interpose its aid for your deliverance, 
And made that mouth its organ ? 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Ye 're both feverish ! 
How can mishap come to me from the Swedes ! 
They sought this junction with me — 'tis their interest, 

Gordon {with difficulty suppressing his emotion). 
But what if the arrival of these Swedes — 
What if this were the very thing that wing'd 
The ruin that is flying to your temples ? 

[Flings himself at his feet 
There is yet time, my Prince. 

SENI. 

hear him ! hear him ! 
Gordon (rises). 
The Ehinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, 
This citadel shall close its gates upon him. 
If then he will besiege us, let him try it. 
But this I say ; he'll find his own destruction 
With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner 
Than weary down the valour of our spirit. 
He shall experience what a band of heroes, 
Inspirited by an heroic leader, 
Is able to perform. And if indeed 
It be thy serious wish to make amend 
For that which thou hast done amiss, — this, this 
Will touch and reconcile the Emperor, 
Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy ; 
And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, 
Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour, 
Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen. 
wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent 
awhile, betraying strong emotion), 
Gordon — your zeal and fervour lead you far. 
Well, well — an old friend has a privilege. 
Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never 
Can the Emperor pardon me : and if he could, 



138 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

Yet I — I ne'er could let myself be pardon'd. 

Had I foreknown what now has taken place, 

That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, 

My first death-offering ; and had the heart 

Spoken to me, as now it has done — Gordon, 

It may be, I might have bethought myself. 

It may be too, I might not. Might or might not, 

Is now an idle question. All too seriously 

Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon ! 

Let it then have its course. [Stepping to the window. 

All dark and silent — at the castle too 

All is now hush'd — Light me, Chamberlain ! 

[The Gkoom of the Chambek, who had entered dur 
ing the last dialogue, and had been standing at a 
distance and listening to it with visible expression* 
of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agita- 
tion, and throws himself at the Duke's feet. 

And thou too ! But I know why thou dost wish 

My reconcilement with the Emperor. 

Poor man ! he hath a small estate in Carinthia, 

And fears it will be forfeited because 

He's in my service. Am I then so poor 

That I no longer can indemnify 

My servants ? Well ! to no one I employ 

Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief 

That fortune has fled from me, go ! forsake me. 

This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, 

And then go over to thy Emperor. 

Gordon, good night ! I think to make a long 

Sleep of it : for the struggle and the turmoil 

Of this last day or two was great. May't please you ! 

Take care that they awake me not too early. 

[Exit Wallenstein, the Gkoom of the Chamber 
lighting him. Seni follows, Gordon remains on 
the darkened stage, following the Duke with his 
eye, till he disappears at the farther end of the 
gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses 
the depth of his anguish and stands leaning 
against a pillar. 



SO. VI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 489 

Scene VI. 
Gordon, Butler (at first behind the scenes), 

butler (not yet come into view of the stage). 
Here stand in silence till I give the signal. 

Gordon (starts up). 
'Tis he ! he has already brought the murderers. 

butler, 
The lights are out All lies in profound sleep. 

GORDON. 

What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him ? 
Shall I call up the house ? alarm the guards ? 

butler (appears, but scarcely on the stage) 
A light gleams hither from the corridor. 
It leads directly to the Duke's bed-chamber. 

GORDON. 

But then I break my oath to the Emperor ; 
If he escape and strengthen the enemy, 
Do I not hereby call down on my head 
All the dread consequences ? 

butler (stepping forward). 

Hark ! Who speaks there ? 

GORDON. 

'Tis better, I resign it to the hands 
Of ProvicLence. For what am I, that I 
Should take upon myself so great a deed ? 
I have not murdered him, if he be murder 'd ; 
But all his rescue were my act and deed ; 
Mine — and whatever be the consequences, 
I must sustain them. 

butler (advances). 

I should know that voice 

GORDON. 

Butler ! * 

BUTLER 

'Tis Gordon. What do you want here ? 
Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you? 

GORDON. 

Your hand bound up and in a scarf? 



140 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTETN. [ACT V. 

BUTLER. 

Tis wounded. 
That Illo fought as he were frantic, till 
At last, we threw him on the ground. 

Gordon (shuddering). 

Both dead ? 

BUTLER. 

Is he in bed ? 

GORDON. 

Ah, Butler ! 

BUTLER. 

Is he ? speak. 

GORDON. 

He shall not perish ! Not through you ! The Heaven 
Refuses your arm. See — 'tis wounded ! — 

BUTLER. 

There is no need of my arm. 

GORDON. 

The most guilty 
Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice. 

[The Groom of the Chamber advances from the 
Gallery with his finger on his mouth commanding 
silence. 

GORDON. 

He sleeps ! murder not the holy sleep ! 

BUTLEB. 

No ! he shall die awake. [Is going 

GORDON 

His heart still cleaves 
To earthly things : he's not prepared to step 
Into the presence of his God ! 

butler (going). 

God's merciful ! 

Gordon (holds him). 
Grant him but this night's respite. 

butler (hurrying off). 

1 The next moment 
May ruin all. 



'; VII.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEtt* 441 

gobdon {holds him still) 
One hour ! 

BUTLEE. 

Unhold ine ! What 
Can that short respite profit him ? 

GORDON. 

0— Time 

Works miracles. In one hour many thousands 
Of grains of sand run out ; and quick as they, 
Thought follows thought within the human soul. 
Only one hour ! Your heart may change its purpose, 
His heart may change its purpose — some new tidings 
May come ; some fortunate event, decisive, 
May fall from Heaven and rescue him. what 
May not one hour achieve ! 

BUTLER. 

You hut remind me, 
How precious every minute is ! 

[He stamps on the floor 

Scene VII. 

To these enter Macdonald and Devereux, with the Hal- 
berdiers. 

Gordon (throwing himself between him and them). 

No, monster ! 
First over my dead body thou shalt tread. 
I will not live to see the accursed deed ! 

butler (forcing him out of the way). 
Weak-hearted dotard ! 

[Trumpets are heard in the distance 
devereux and macdonald. 

Hark ! The Swedish trumpets ! 
The Swedes before the ramparts ! Let us hasten ! 

Gordon (rushes out). 
0, God of mercy! 

butler (calling after him). 
Governor, to your post ! 
groom of the chamber (hurries in). 
Who dares make larum here ? Hush ! The Duke sleeps 



442 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. .[ACT V 

devereux (with loud harsh voice). 
Friend, it is time now to make larum. 

GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. 

Help! 
Murder ! 

BUTLER. 

Down with him ! 
groom of the chamber (run through the body by devereux* 
falls at the entrance of the Gallery). 

Jesus Maria 

BUTLER. 

Burst the doors open. 

[They rush over the body into the Gallery — two doors are 
heard to crash one after the other. — Voices, deadened 
by the distance — clash of arms — then all at once a pro- 
found silence. 



Scene VIII. 

COUNTESS terzkt {with a light). 
Her bed-chamber is empty ; she herself 
Is nowhere to be found ! The Neubrunn too, 
Who watch'd by her, is missing. If she should 

Be flown but whither flown ? We must call up 

Every soul in the house. How will the Duke 
Bear up against these worst bad tidings ? 
If that my husband now were but return 'd 
Home from the banquet ! — Hark ! I wonder whether 
The Duke is still awake ! I thought I heard 
Voices and tread of feet here ! I will go 
And listen at the door. Hark ! what is that ? 
'Tis hastening up the steps ! 

Scene IX. 

Countess, Gordon. 

Gordon (rushes in out of breath). 
'Tis a mistake ! 
Tis not the Swedes — Ye must proceed no further — 
Butler !— God ! where is he ? 



sc X J THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 44 H 

Gordon (observing the countess). 

Countess! Say 

COUNTESS. 

You are come then from the castle ? Where's my husband ? 

gokdon (in an agony of affright). 
Your husband ! — Ask not ! — To the Duke 

COUNTESS. 

Not till 
You have discover 'd to me 

GOKDON. 

On this moment 
Does tne world hang. For God's sake ! to the Duke. 

While we are speaking [Calling loudly 

Butler! Butler! God! 

COUNTESS. 

Why, he is at the castle with my husband. 

[Butler comes from the Gallery 

GOKDON. 

'Twas a mistake — Tis not the Swedes — it is 
The Imperialists' Lieutenant-General 
Has sent me hither — will be here himself 
Instantly. — You must not proceed. 

BUTLER. 

He comes 
Too late. [Gordon dashes himself against the wall. 

GORDON. 

O God of mercy ! 

COUNTESS. 

What too late ? 
Who will be here himself? Octavio 
In Egra ? Treason ! Treason ! — Where's the Duke ? 

[She rushes to the Gallery 

Scene X. 

Servants run acoss the Stage full of terror. The whole Scene 
must be spoken entirely without pauses). 

seni (from the Gallery). 
bloody frightful deed ! 



444 THE DEATH Q^ WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

COUNTESS. 

What is it, Seni? 
page {from the Gallery). 
O piteous sight ! 

[Other Servants hasten in with torches 

COUNTESS. 

What is it? For God's sake! 

SENI. 

And do you ask ? 
Within, the Duke lies murder 'd — and your husband 
Assassinated at the Castle. 

[The Countess stands motionless 
female sekvant {rushing across the Stage). 
Help ! help ! the Duchess ! 

burgomaster {enters). 

What mean these confused 
Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house ? 

GORDON. 

Your house is cursed to all eternity. 
In your house doth the Duke lie murder'd ! 
burgomaster {rushing out). 

Heaven forbid ! 

FIRST SERVANT. 

Fly ! fly ! they murder us all ! 

second servant {carrying silver plate). 

That way ! the lower 
Passages are block'd up. 

voice {from behind the Scene). 
Make room for the Lieutenant- General ! 

[At these words the Countess starts from her stupor, col- 
lects herself, and retires suddenly. 

voice {from behind the Scene). 
Keep back the people ! Guard the door ! 

Scene XI. 
To these enter Octavto Piccolomini with all his train. At 
the same time Devereux and Macdonald enter from out 
the Corridor with the Halberdiers. — Wallensteins dead 
body is carried over the back part of the Stage, wrapped in a 
piece of crimson tapestry. 

octavio [entering abruptly). 
It must not be ! It is not possible ! 



SC. XI.] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 445 

Butler ! Gordon ! 

I'll not believe it. Say no ! 

[Gordon, without answering, points with his hand to the 
body of Wallenstein as it is carried over the back oj 
the stage. Octavio looks that way, and stands over- 
powered with horror. 

deveeeux (to butlek). 
Here is the golden fleece — the Duke's sword — 

MACDONALD. 

Is it your order — 

butler (pointing to octavio). 
Here stands he who now 
Hath the sole power to issue orders. 

[Devereux and Macdonald retire with marks of obcis 
ance. One drops away after the other, till only But- 
ler, Octavio, and Gordon, remain on the Stage 
octavto (turning to butler). 
Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted ? 
O God of Justice ! 

To thee I lift my hand ! I am not guilty 
Of this foul deed. 

BUTLER. 

Your hand is pure You havo 
Avail'd yourself of mine. 

OCTAVIO 

Merciless man ! 
Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord — 
And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder, 
With bloody, most accursed assassination ! 

butler (calmly). 
I've but fulfilled the Emperor's own sentence 

OCTAVIO. 

curse of Kings, 

Infusing a dread life into their words, 

And linking to the sudden transient thought 

The unchanging irrevocable deed. 

Was there necessity for such an eager 

Despatch ? Couldst thou not grant the merciful 

A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel. 



446 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. fAOT 7. 

To leave no interval between the sentence, 
And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem 
God only, the immutable ! 

BUTLEB. 

For what 
Kail you against me ? What is my offence ? 
The Empire from a fearful enemy 
Have I deliver 'd, and expect reward. 
The single difference betwixt you and me 
Is this : you placed the arrow in the bow ; 
I pull'd the string. You sow'd blood, and yet stand 
Astonish'd that blood is come up. I always 
Knew what I did, and therefore no result 
Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit. 
Have you aught else to order ; for this instant 
I make my best speed to Vienna ; place 
My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne, 
And hope to gain the applause which undelaying 
And punctual obedience may demand 
From a just judge. [Exit Butter. 

Scene XII. 

To these enter the Countess Terzky, pale and disordered 
Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned. 

octavio {meeting her). 
O, Countess Terzky ! These are the results 
Of luckless unblest deeds. 

countess. 

They are the fruits 
Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead, 
My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles 
In the pangs of death, my niece has disappear'd 
This house of splendour, and of princely glory, 
Doth now stand desolated : the affrighted servants 
Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last 
Therein ; I shut it up, and here deliver 
The keys. 

octavio (with a deep anguish). 
Countess ! my house, too, is desolate. 



SC. XII. ] THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 447 

COUNTESS. 

Who next is to be murder'd ? Who is next 
To be maltreated ? Lo ! the Duke is dead, 
The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified ! 
Spare the old servants ; let not their fidelity 
Be imputed to the faithful as a crime — 
The evil destiny surprised my brother 
Too suddenly : he could not think on them. 

OCTAVIO. 

Speak not of vengeance ! Speak not of maltreatment ! 

The Emperor is appeased ; the heavy fault 

Hath heavily been expiated — nothing 

Descended from the father to the daughter, 

Except his glory and his services. 

The Empress honours your adversity, 

Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you 

Her motherly arms ! Therefore no farther fears ; 

Yield yourself up in hope and confidence 

To the Imperial Grace ! 

countess {with her eye raised to heaven). 
To the grace and mercy of a greater Master 
Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body 
Of the Duke have its place of final rest ? 
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found 
At Gitschin, rests the Countess Wallenstein ; 
And by her side, to whom he was indebted 
For his first fortunes, gratefully he wish'd 
He might sometime repose in death ! let him 
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's 
Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor 
Is now the proprietor of all our castles. 
This sure may well be granted us — one sepulchre 
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers ! 

OCTAVIO 

Countess, you tremble, you turn pale ! 

countess (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy 
and dignity) 

You think 
More worthily of me, than to believe 
1 would survive the downfall of my house. 



448 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. [ACT V 

We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp 
After a monarch's crown — the crown did fate 
Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit 
That to the crown belong ! We deem a 
Courageous death more worthy of our free station 
Than a dishonour'd life. — I have taken poison. 

OCTAVIO. 

Help ! Help ! Support her ! 

COUNTESS. 

Nay, it is too late. 
In a few moments is my fate accomplish'd 

[Exit Countess 
Gordon. 
O house of death and horrors ! 

[An Officer enters, and brings a letter with the great seal. 
Gordon steps forward and meets him. 

What is this ? 
It is the Imperial Seal. 

[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to Ootavio 
with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the 
word. 
To the Prince Piccolomini. 

[Octavio, with his whole frame expressive of sudden 
anguish, raises his eyes to heaven. 

The Curtain drops 



RND OF XHJ3 DEATH OF WALLENSTBltt. 



WILHELM TELL 



DRAMATIS PERSONA 



Hermann G-essler, Governor of 

Switz and Uri. 
Werner, Baron of Attinghausen, 

free nolle of Switzerland. 
Ulrich von Rudenz, his Nephew. 
Werner Stauffacher, ^ 
Conrad Hunn, 
Hans auf der Mauer, 
jorg im hofe, 
Ulrich per Schmidt, 
Jost von Weiler, 
Itel Reding, 
Walter Furst, 
Wilhelm Tell, 
Rosselmann, the Priest, 
Petermann, Sacristan, 
Kuoni, Herdsman, 
Werni, Huntsman, 
Ruodi, Fisherman, 
Arnold of Melchthal, 
Conrad Baumgarten, 
Meyer von Sarnen, 
Struth von Winkelried, y VJ u 'jj 
Klaus von der Flue, 

BURKHART AM BuHEL, 

Arnold von Sewa, 
Pfeiffer of Lucerne. 
kunz of g-ersau. 
Jenni, Fisherman's »an. 



of 
Schwytz. 



> of Uri. 



^ 



of TJnter- 



Peasant women. 



'TelVs sons. 



Soldiers. 



Seppi, Herdsman's son. 
Gertrude, Stauffacher s wife. 
Hedwig, wife of Tell, daughter oj 

Furst. 
Bertha of Bruneck, a rich heiress. 
Armgart, \ 
Mechthild, 
Elsbeth, 
Hildegard, 
Walter, 
Wilhelm, 
Friesshardt, 
Leuthold, 
Rudolph der Harras, Gessler's 

master of the horse. 
Johannes Parricida, Duke of Sua- 

oia. 
Stussi, Overseer. 
The Mayor of Uri. 
A Courier. 
Master Stonemason, Companions, 

and Workmen. 
Taskmaster. 
A Crier. 

Monks of the Order of Charity. 
Horsemen of Gessler and Landen- 

berg. 
Many Peasants ; Men and Women 

FROM THE WaLDSTETTEN. 



gg 



£50 WILHELM TELL. [%CT L 

ACT I. 

Scene I. 
£ high rocky shore of the lake of Lucerne opposite Schwytz. 
The lake makes a bend into the land ; a hut stands at a 
short distance from the shore ; the fisher boy is rowing 
about in his boat. Beyond the lake are seen the green 
meadows, the hamlets and farms of Schwytz, lying in the 
clear sunshine On the left are observed the peaks of the 
JSacken, surrounded with clouds; to the right, and in the 
remote distance, appear the Glaciers. The Ranz des Vaches, 
and the tinkling of cattle bells, continue for some time after 
the rising of the curtain. 

fisheb boy [sings in his boat). 
Melody of the Ranz des Vaches. 
The clear smiling lake woo'd to bathe in its deep, 
A boy on its green shore had laid him to sleep ; 
Then heard he a melody 

Flowing and soft, 
And sweet, as when angels 
Are singing aloft. 
And as thrilling with pleasure he wakes from his rest. 
The waters are murmuring over his breast ; 
And a voice from the deep cries, 

"With me thou must go, 
I charm the young shepherd, 

I lure him below." 
heedsman (on the mountains). 
Air. — Variation of the Ranz des Vaches. 
Farewell, ye green meadows, 

Farewell, sunny shore. 
The herdsman must leave you, 
The summer is o'er. 
We go to the hills, but you'll see us again, 

When the cuckoo is calling, and woodnotes are gay, 
When flow'rets are blooming in dingle and plain, 
And the brooks sparkle up in the sunshine of May. 
Farewell, ye green meadows, 

Farewell, sunny shore, 
The herdsman must leave you, 
The summer is o'er 



SC. I. j W1LHELM TELL. 45 1 

chamois hunter [appearing on the top of a cliff) 
Second Variation of the Ranz des V aches. 
On the heights peals the thunder, and trembles the bridge, 
The huntsman bounds on by the dizzying ridge. 
Undaunted he hies him 
O'er ice-covered wild, 
Where leaf never budded, 
Nor Spring ever smiled ; 
And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye 
No longer the dwellings of man can espy ; 
Through the parting clouds only 

The earth can be seen, 
Far down 'neath the vapour 
The meadows of green. 
[A change comes over the landscape. A rumbling, 
cracking noise is heard among the mountains. Sha- 
dows of clouds sweep across the scene. 
[Ruodi, the fisherman, comes out of his cottage. Wekni, 
the huntsman, descends from the rocks. Kuoni, the 
shepherd, enters, with a milkpail on his shoulders, 
followed by Seppi, his assistant. 
Ruodi. Bestir thee, Jenni, haul the boat on shore. 

The grizzly Vale-King* comes, the Glaciers moan, 
The lofty Mytensteinf draws on his hood, 
And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind ; 
The storm will burst, before we are prepared. 
Kuoni. 'Twill rain ere long ; my sheep browse eagerly, 

. And Watcher there is scraping up the earth. 
Werni. The fish are leaping, and the water-hen 

Dives up and down. A storm is coming on 
Kuoni (to his boy). 

Look, Seppi, if the cattle are not straying. 
Seppi. There goes brown Liesel, I can hear her bells. 
Kuoni. Then all are safe ; she ever ranges farthest. 
Ruodi. You've a fine yoke of bells there, master herdsman. 
Werni. And likely cattle, too. Are they your own ? 

* The German is, Thalvogt, Ruler of the Valley — the name given figura- 
tively to a dense grey mist which the south wind sweeps into the valleys from 
the mountain tops. It is well known as the precursor of stormy weather. 

t A steep rock, standing on the north of Rutli, and nearly opposite tu 
Bmtuen. , 

G G 2 



452 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I 

Kuoni. I'm not so rich. They are the noble lord's 

Of Attinghaus, and trusted to my care. 
Ruodi. How gracefully yon heifer bears her ribbon ! 
Kuoni. Ay, well she knows she's leader of the herd, 

And, take it from her, she'd refuse to feed. 
Ruodi. You're joking now. A beast devoid of reason — 
Werni. That's easy said. But beasts have reason, too, — 

And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois : 

They never turn to feed — sagacious creatures ! 

Till they have placed a sentinel ahead, 

Who pricks his ears whenever we approach, 

And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe. 
Ruodi (to the shepherd). 

Are you for home ? 
Kuoni. The Alp is grazed quite bare. 

Werni. A safe return, my friend ! 
Kuoni. The same to you ! 

Men come not always back from tracks like yours. 
Ruodi. But who comes here, running at topmost speed? 
Werni. I know the man ; 'tis Baumgart of Alzellen. 
Konrad Baumgarten (rushing in breathless). 

For God's sake, ferryman, your boat! 
Ruodi. How now ? 

Why all this haste? 
Baum. Cast off! My life's at stake ! 

Set me across ! 
Kuoni. m Why, what's the matter, friend ? 

Werni. Who are pursuing you ? First tell us that. 
Baum. (to the fisherman). 

Quick, quick, e'en now they're close upon my heels! 

The Viceroy's horsemen are in hot pursuit ! 

I'm a lost man, should they lay hands upon me. 
Ruodi Why are the troopers in pursuit of you ? 
Baum. First save my life, and then I'll tell you all. 
Werni. There's blood upon your garments — how is this ? 
Baum. The imperial Seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg — 
Kuoni. How! What! The Wolfshot * ? Is it he pursues you ? 

* In Gferman, Wolfenschiessen — a young man of noble family, and a native 
i>C Unterwalden, who attached himself to the House of Austria, and was ap- 
pointed Burgvogt, or Seneschal, of the Castle of Rossberg. He was killed bj 
feaumgarten in the manner, and for the cause, mentioned in the text. 



SC. I. 



W3XHELM TELL. 



453 



Baum. He'll ne'er hurt man again ; I've settled him. 
All (starting back). 

Now, God forgive you, what is this you Ve done ! 
Baum. What every free man in my place had done. 

I have but used mine own good household right 

'Gainst him that would have wrong'd my wife — my 
honour. 
Kuoni. And has he wrong'd you in your honour, then? 
Baum. That he did not fulfil his foul desire, 

Is due to God and to my trusty axe. 
Weeni. You've cleft his skull then, have you, with your axe ? 
Kuoni. 0, tell us all ! You've time enough, before 

The boat can be unfastened from its moorings. 
Baum. When I was in the forest felling timber, 

My wife came running out in mortal fear. 

" The Seneschal," she said, " was in my house, 

Had order'd her to get a bath prepared, 

And thereupon had ta'en unseemly freedoms, 

From which she rid herself, and flew to me." 

Arm'd as I was, I sought him, and my axe 

Has given his bath a bloody benediction. 
Werni. And you did well ; no man can blame the deed. 
Kuoni. The tyrant ! Now he has his just reward ! 

We men of Unterwald have owed it long. 
Baum. The deed got wind, and now they're in pursuit. 

Heavens ! whilst we speak, the time is flying fast. 

[It begins to thunder. 
Kuoni. Quick, ferryman, and set the good man over. 
Ruodi. Impossible! a storm is close at hand, 

Wait till it pass ! You must. 
Baum. Almighty heavens 1 

I cannot wait ; the least delay is death. 
Kuoni (to the fisherman). 

Push out — God with you ! We should help our neigh- 
bours ; 

The like misfortune may betide us all. 

[Thunder and the roaring of the wind 
Ruodi. The South-wind's up * ! See how the lake is rising ! 

I cannot steer against both storm and wave. 

* Literally, The Fohn is loose ! " When," says M tiller, in his History of 
Switzerland, " tfie wind called the Fohn is high, the navigation of the lak* 



454 



WTLHELM TELL. 



[ACT I, 



Baum. (clasping him by the knees). 

God so help you, as now you pity me ! 
Werni. His life's at stake. Have pity on him, man! 
Kuont. He is a father : has a wife and children. 

[Repeated peals of thunder* 
Ruodi. What! and have I not, then, a life to lose, 

A wife and child at home as well as he ? 

See, how the breakers foam, and toss, and whirl, 

And the lake eddies up from all its depths ! 

Eight gladly would I save the worthy man, 

But 'tis impossible, as you must see. 
Baum. (still kneeling). 

Then must I fall into the tyrant's hands, 

And with the port of safety close in sight! 

Yonder it lies ! My eyes can measure it, 

My very voice can echo to its shores. 

There is the boat to carry me across, 

Yet must I lie here helpless and forlorn. 
Kuoni. Look ! who comes here ? 

Ruodi. 'Tis Tell, brave Tell, of Biirglen*. 

[Enter Tell with a crossbow. 
Tell. Who is the man that here implores for aid ? 
Kuoni. He is from Alzellen, and to guard his honour 

From touch of foulest shame, has slain the Wolfshot, 

The Imperial Seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg. 

The Viceroy's troopers are upon his heels ; 

He begs the boatman here to take him over, 

But he, in terror of the storm, refuses. 
Ruodi. Well, there is Tell can steer as well as I, 

He'll be my judge, if it be possible. 
[Violent peals of thunder — the lake becomes more tempestuous. 

Am I to plunge into the jaws of hell ? 

I should be mad to dare the desperate act. 
Tell. The brave man thinks upon himself the last. 

Put trust in God, and help him in his need ! 



becomes extremely dangerous. Such is its vehemence, that the laws of the 
country require that the fires shall be extinguished in the houses while it 
lasts, and the night watches are doubled. The inhabitants lay heavy stones 
upon the roofs of their houses, to prevent their being blown away." 

* Biirglen, the birthplace and residence of Tell. A chapel, erected in 
1522, remains on the spot formerly occupied by his house. 



ec. i.J 



WILHELM TELL. 



455 



Tell. 



Ruodi. 
Tell. 

Kuoni. 
Werni 
Baum. 
Tell. 



Huodi. Safe in the port, 'tis easy to advise. 

There is the boat, and there the lake ! Try you! 
Tell. The lake may pity, but the Viceroy wi J not. 

Come, venture, man ! 
Shepherd and Huntsman. 

save him ! save him ! save him ! 
Ruodi. Though 'twere my brother, or my darling child, 

I would not go. It is St. Simon's day, 

The lake is up, and calling for its victim. 

Nought's to be done with idle talking here. 

Time presses on — the man must be assisted. 

Say, boatman, will you venture ? 

No ; not I. 

In God's name, then, give me the boat ! I will, 

With my poor strength, see what is to be done ! 

Ha, noble Tell ! 

That's like a gallant huntsman ! 

You are my angel, my preserver, Tell. 

I may preserve you from the Viceroy's power, 

But from the tempest's rage another must. 

Yet you had better fall into God's hands, 

Than into those of men. [To the herdsman. 

Herdsman, do thou 

Console my wife, should aught of ill befall me. 

I do but what I may not leave undone. 

[He leaps into the boat 
Kuoni (to the fisherman). 

A pretty man to be a boatman, truly t 

What Tell could risk, you dared not venture on. 
Kuoni. Far better men than I would not ape Tell. 

There does not live his fellow 'mong the mountains 
Werni (who has ascended a rock). 

He pushes off. God help thee now, brave sailor ! 

Look how his bark is reeling on the waves ! 
Kuoni (on the shore). 

The surge has swept clean over it. And now 

Tis out of sight. Yet stay, there 'tis again ! 

Stoutly he stems the breakers, noble fellow ! 

Here come the troopers hard as they can ride ! 

Heavens ! so they do ! Why, that was help, indeed. 
[Enter a troo% of horsemen 



Seppi. 
Kuoni 



456 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I. 

1st H. Give up the murderer ! You have him here ! 
2nd H. This way he came ! Tis useless to conceal him ! 
Euodi and Kuoni. 

Whom do you mean ? 
First Horseman (discovering the boat). 

The devil ! What do I see ? 
Werni (from ahove). 

Is't he n yonder boat ye seek ? Eide on, 

If you lay to, you may o'ertake him yet. 
2nd H. Curse on you, he's escaped ! 
First Horseman (to the shepherd and fisherman). 

You help'd him off, 

And you shall pay for it. Fall on their herds ! 

Down with the cottage ! burn it ! beat it down ! 

[They rush off. 
Seppi (hurrying after them). Oh my poor lambs! 
Kuoni (following him). Unhappy me, my herds ! 
Werni. The tyrants ! 
Ruodi (wringing his hands). 

Righteous Heaven ! Oh, when will come 

Deliverance to this devoted land ? [Exeunt severally. 



Scene II. 

A lime tree in front of Stauffacher's house at Steinen, in 
Schivytz, upon the public road, near a bridge. 

Werner Stauffacher and Pfeiffer, of Lucerne, enter 
into conversation. 

Pfeiff. Ay, ay, friend Stauffacher, as I have said, 
Swear not to Austria, if you can help it. 
Hold by the Empire stoutly as of yore, 
And God preserve you in your ancient freedom ! 

[Presses his hand warmly and is going. 

Statjff. Wait till my mistress comes. Now do ! You are 
My guest in Schwytz — I in Lucerne am yours. 

Pfeiff. Thanks ! thanks ! But I must reach Gersau to-day. 
Whatever grievances your rulers' pride 
And grasping avarice may yet inflict, 
Bear them in patience — soon a change may come. 



8C n.] WILKELM TELL. 457 

Another emperor may mount the throne. 
But Austria's once, and you are hers for ever. [Exit 
[Stauffacher sits down sorrowfully upon a bench 
under the lime tree. Gertrude, his wife, enters, 
and finds him in this posture. She places herself 
near him, and looks at him for some time in 
silence. 

Gert So sad, my love ! I scarcely know thee now. 
For many a day in silence I have mark'd 
A moody sorrow furrowing thy brow. 
Some silent grief is weighing on thy heart. 
Trust it to me. I am thy faithful wife, 
And I demand my half of all thy cares. 

[Stauffacher gives her his hand and is silent. 
Tell me what can oppress thy spirits thus ? 
Thy toil is blest — the world goes well with thee — 
Our barns are full — our cattle, many a score ; 
Our handsome team of sleek and well-fed steeds 
Brought from the mountain pastures safely home, 
To winter in their comfortable stalls. 
There stands thy house — no nobleman's more fair ! 
'Tis newly built with timber of the best, 
All grooved and fitted with the nicest skill ; 
Its many glistening windows tell of comfort ! 
Tis quarter 'd o'er with scutcheons of all hues, 
And proverbs sage, which passing travellers 
Linger to read, and ponder o'er their meaning. 

Stauff The house is strongly built, and handsomely, 

But, ah ! the ground on which we built it totters. 

Gert Tell me, dear Werner, what you mean by that ? 

Stauff. No later since than yesterday, I sat 

Beneath this linden, thinking with delight, 
How fairly all was finished, when from Kiissnacht, 
The Viceroy and his men came riding by. 
Before this house he halted in surprise : 
At once I rose, and, as beseemed his rank, 
Advanced respectfully to greet the lord, 
To whom the Emperor delegates his power, 
As judge supreme within our Canton here. 
" Who is the owner of this house?" he asked, 
With mischief in his thoughts, for well he knew. 



458 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I. 

With prompt decision, thus I answered him : 

*• The Emperor, your grace — my lord and yours, 

And held by me in fief." On this he answered, 

" I am the Emperor's viceregent here, 

And will not that each peasant churl should build 

At his own pleasure, bearing him as freely 

As though he were the master in the land. 

I shall make bold to put a stop to this ! " 

So saying, he, with menaces, rode off, 

And left me musing with a heavy heart, 

On the fell purpose that his words betray'd. 

Gert. Mine own dear lord and husband ! Wilt thou take 
A word of honest counsel from thy wife ? 
I boast to be the noble Iberg's child, 
A man of wide experience. Many a time, 
As we sat spinning in the winter nights, 
My sisters and myself, the people's chiefs 
Were wont to gather round our father's hearth, 
To read the old imperial charters, and 
To hold sage converse on the country's weal. 
Then needfully I listened, marking well 
What or the wise man thought, or good man wished 
And garner 'd up their wisdom in my heart. 
Hear then, and mark me well ; for thou wilt see, 
I long have known the grief that weighs thee down. 
The Viceroy hates thee, fain would injure thee, 
For thou hast cross'd his wish to bend the Swiss 
In homage to this upstart house of princes, 
And kept them staunch, like their good sires of old, 
In true allegiance to the Empire. Say, 
Is't not so, Werner? Tell me, am I wrong? 

Stauff. 'Tis even so. For this doth Gessler hate me. 

Gert. He burns with envy, too, to see thee living 
Happy and free on thine inheritance, 
For he has none. From the Emperor himself 
Thou hold'st in fief the lands thy fathers left the< 
There's not a prince i'the Empire that can show 
A better title to his heritage ; 
For thou hast over thee no lord but one, 
And he the mightiest of all Christian kings. 
Gessler, we know, is but a younger son, 



8C. IT.] WILHELM TELL. 459 

His only wealth the knightly cloak he wears : 

He therefore views an honest man's good fortune 

With a malignant and a jealous eye. 

Long has he sworn to compass thy destruction. 

As yet thou art uninjured. Wilt thou wait, 

Till he may safely give his malice scope ? 

A wise man would anticipate the blow. 

Stauff W T hat's to be done ? 

Gekt Now hear what I advise 

Thou knowest well, how here with us in Schwytz 
All worthy men are groaning underneath 
This Gessler's grasping, grinding tyranny. 
Doubt not the men of Unterwald as well, 
And Uri, too, are chafing like ourselves, 
At this oppressive and heart-wearying yoke. 
For there, across the lake, the Landenberg 
Wields the same iron rule as Gessler here — 
No fishing-boat comes over to our side, 
But brings the tidings of some new encroachment, 
Some outrage fresh, more grievous than the last. 
Then it were well, that some of you — true men — 
Men sound at heart, should secretly devise, 
How best to shake this hateful thraldom off. 
Well do I know, that God would not desert you, 
But lend his favour to the righteous cause. 
Hast thou no friend in Uri, say, to whom 
Thou frankly mayst unbosom all thy thoughts ? 

Stauff. I know full many a gallant fellow there, 

And nobles, too, — great men, of high repute, 

In whom I can repose unbounded trust. [Bising 

Wife ! What a storm of wild and perilous thoughts 

Hast thou stirr'd up within my tranquil breast? 

The darkest musings of my bosom thou 

Hast dragg'd to light, and placed them full before me, 

And what I scarce dared harbour e'en in thought, 

Thou speakest plainly out, with fearless tongue. 

But hast thou weigh'd well what thou urgest thus ? 

Discord will come, and the fierce clang of arms, 

To scare this valley's long unbroken peace, 

If we, a feeble shepherd race, shall dare 

Him to the fight, that lords it o'er the world. 



460 WTLHELM TELL [ACT I 

Ev'n now they only wait some fair pretext 
For setting loose their savage warrior hordes, 
To scourge and ravage this devoted land, 
To lord it o'er us with the victor's rights, 
And, 'neath the show of lawful chastisement, 
Despoil us of our chartered liberties. 

Gert You, too, are men ; can wield a battle axe 

As well as they. God ne'er deserts the brave. 

Stauff. Oh wife ! a horrid, ruthless fiend is war, 

That strikes at once the shepherd and his flock. 

Geet. Whate'er great Heaven inflicts, we must endure; 
No heart of noble temper brooks injustice. 

Stauff. This house — thy pride — war, unrelenting war, 
Will burn it down. 

Gert And did I think this heart 

Enslaved and fettered to the things of earth, 
With my own hand I'd hurl the kindling torch. 

Stauff. Thou hast faith in human kindness, wife ; but war 
Spares not the tender infant in its cradle. 

Gert. There is a friend to innocence in heaven ! 

Look forward, Werner — not behind you, now! 

Stauff. We men may perish bravely, sword in hand ; 

But oh, what fate, my Gertrude, may be thine ? 

Gert. None are so weak, but one last choice is left. 
A spring from yonder bridge, and I am free ! 

Stauff. {embracing her). 

Well may he light for hearth and home, that clasps 
A heart so rare as thine against his own !_ 
What are the hosts of Emperors to him ? 
Gertrude, farewell ! I will to Uri straight. 
There lives my worthy comrade, Walter Fiirst; 
His thoughts and mine upon these times are one 
There, too, resides the noble Banneret 
Of Attinghaus. High though of blood he be, 
He loves the people, honours their old customs. 
With both of these I will take counsel, how 
To rid us bravely of our country's foe. 
Farewell ! and while I am away, bear thou 
A watchful eye in management at home. 
The pilgrim, journeying to the house of God, 
And pious monk, collecting for his cloister, 



SC III.] WILHELM TELL. 461 

To these give liberally from purse and garner. 
Stauffacher's house would not be hid. Eight out 
Upon the public way it stands, and offers 
To all that pass an hospitable roof. 
[While they are retiring, Tell enters with Baumgarten 
Tell. Now, then, you have no further need of me. 

Enter yon house. 'Tis Werner Stauffacher's, 

A man that is a father to distress. 

See, there he is, himself ! Come, follow me. 

[They retire up. Scene changes 

Scene III. 

A common near Altdorf. On an eminence in the back-ground 
a Castle in progress of erection, and so far advanced that the 
outline of the whole may be distinguished. The back part 
is finished; men are working at the front. Scaffolding, on 
which the workmen are going up and down. A slater is seen 
upon the highest part of the roof. All is bustle and activity. 

Taskmaster, Mason, Workmen and Labourers. 

Task, (with a stick, urging on the workmen). 

Up, up ! You've rested long enough. To work ! 

The stones here ! Now the mortar, and the lime ! 

And ]et his lordship see the work advanced, 

When next he comes. These fellows crawl like, 
snails ! 

[To two labourers, with loads, 

What ! call ye that a load ? Go, double it. 

Is this the way ye earn your wages, laggards ? 
1st W. 'Tis very hard that we must bear the stones, 

To make a keep and dungeon for ourselves ! 
Task What's that you mutter ? 'Tis a worthless race, 

And fit for nothing but to milk their cows, 

And saunter idly up and down the mountains. 
Old Man (sinks down exhausted). 

I can no more. 
Task, (shaking him). 

Up, up, old man, to work ! 
1 st W. Have you no bowels of compassion, thus 

To press so hard upon a poor old man, 

That scarce can drag his feeble limbs along ? 



462 WILHELM TELL. [ACT I 

Master Mason and Workmen. 

Shame, shame upon you — shame ! It cries to heaven ! 
Task. Mind your own business. I but do my duty. 
1st W. Pray, master, what's to be the name of this 

Same castle, when 'tis built ? 
Task. The Keep of Uri ; 

For by it we shall keep you in subjection. 
Work. The Keep of Uri ? 

Task. Well, why laugh at that? 

2nd W. So you'll keep Uri with this paltry place ! 
1st W. How many molehills such as that must first 

Be piled above each other, ere you make 

A mountain equal to the least in Uri ? 

[Taskmaster retires up the stage. 
Mas. M. IU drown the mallet in the deepest lake, 

That served my hand on this accursed pile. 

[Enter Tell and Stauffacher 
Stauff. 0, that I had not lived to see this sight ! 
Tell. Here 'tis not good to be. Let us proceed. 
Stauff. Am I in Uri, in the land of freedom ? 
Mas.M. 0, sir, if you could only see the vaults 

Beneath these towers. The man that tenants them 

Will never hear the cock crow more. 
Stauff. God! 

Mason. Look at these ramparts and these buttresses, 

That seem as they were built to last for ever. 
Tell. Hands can destroy whatever hands have rear'd. 

[Pointing to the mountains. 

That house of freedom God hath built for us. 

[A drum is heard. People enter bearing a cap 
upon a pole, followed by a crier. Women and 
children thronging tumultuously after them 
1st W. What means the drum? Give heed! 
Mason. Why, here's a mumming! 

And look, the cap — what can they mean by that? 
Crier. In the Emperor's name, give ear ! 
Work. Hush! silence! hush 

Crier. Ye men of Uri, ye do see this cap ! 

It will be set upon a lofty pole 

In Altdorf, in the market place : and this 

Is the Lord Governor's good will and pleasure. 



SC. ITT. 



WILHELM TELL. 463 



The cap shall have like honour as himself, 
And all shall reverence it with bended knee, 
And head uncovered ; thus the king will know 
Who are his true and loyal subjects here; 
His life and goods are forfeit to the crown, 
That shall refuse obedience to the order. 

[The people burst out into laughter. The drum 
beats, and the procession passes on 

1st W. A strange device to fall upon, indeed ! 
Do reverence to a cap ! A pretty farce ! 
Heard ever mortal anything like this ? 

Mas.M Down to a cap on bended knee, forsooth ! 
Rare jesting this with men of sober sense! 

1st W. Nay, were it but the imperial crown, indeed ! 
But 'tis the cap of Austria ! I've seen it 
Hanging above the throne in Gessler's hall. 

Mason. The cap of Austria ? Mark that ! A snare 
To get us into Austria's power, by Heaven ! 

Work. No freeborn man will stoop to such disgrace. 

Mas. M. Come — to our comrades, and advise with them ! 

[They retire up 

Tell (to Stauffacher). 

You see how matters stand. Farewell, my friend ! 

Stauff. Whither away ? Oh, leave us not so soon. 

Tell. They look for me at home. So fare ye well. 

Stauff. My heart's so full, and has so much to tell you. 

Tell. Words will not make a heart that's heavy light. 

Stauff. Yet words may possibly conduct to deeds. 

Tell. All we can do is to endure in silence. 

Stauff. But shall we bear what is not to be borne ? 

Tell. Impetuous rulers have the shortest reigns. 

When the fierce Southwind rises from his chasms, 
Men cover up their fires, the ships in haste 
Make for the harbour, and the mighty spirit 
Sweeps o'er the earth, and leaves no trace behind. 
Let every man live quietly at home ; 
Peace to the peaceful rarely is denied. 

Stauff. And is it thus you view our grievances ? 

Tell. The serpent stings not, till it is provoked. 

Let them alone ; they'll weary of themselves, 
Whene'er they see we are not to be roused. 



464 WILHELM TELL [ACT I. 

Stauff. Much might be done — did we stand fast together. 
Tell. When the ship founders, he will best escape, 

Who seeks no other's safety but his own. 
Stauff. And you desert the common cause so coldly ? 
Tell. A man can safely count but on himself ! 
Stauff. Nay, even the weak grow strong by union. 
Tell. But the strong man is strongest when alone. 
Stauff. Your country, then, cannot rely on you, 

If in despair she rise against her foes. 
Tell. Tell rescues the lost sheep from yawning gulphs : 

Is he a man, then, to desert his friends ? 

Yet, whatsoe'er you do, spare me from council ! 

I was not born to ponder and select ; 

But when your course of action is resolved, 

Then call on Tell ; you shall not find him fail. 

[Exeunt severally. A sudden tumult is heard 
around the scaffolding. 
Mason (running in). What's wrong? 
Fiest Workman (running forivard). 

The slater's fallen from the roof. 
Bertha (rushing in). 

Is. he dashed to pieces? Eun — save him, help! 

If help be possible, save him ! Here is gold. 

[Throws her trinkets among the peovh 
Mason. Hence with your gold, — your universal charm, 

And remedy for ill ! When you have torn 

Fathers from children, husbands from their wives, 

And scattered woe and wail throughout the land, 

You think with gold to compensate for all. 

Hence ! Till we saw you, we were happy men ; 

With you came misery and dark despair. 
Bertha (to the Taskmaster, who has returned). 

Lives he ? 

[Taskmaster shakes his head. 
Ill-fated towers, with curses built, 

And doomed with curses to be tenanted ! [Exit 



Sk2. TV.] WILHELM TELL. 4(35 

Scene IV. 

The House of Walteb Furst. Walter Furst and Arnold 
Von Melchthal enter simultaneously at different sides 

Melch. Good Walter Furst. 

Furst. If we should be surprised ! 

Stay where you are. We are beset with spies. 
Melch. Have you no news for me from Unterwald ? 
What of my father ? Tis not to be borne, 
Thus to be pent up like a felon here ! 
What have I done of such a heinous stamp, 
To skulk and hide me like a murderer ? 
I only laid my staff across the fingers 
Of the pert varlet, when before my eyes, 
By order of the governor, he tried 
To drive away my handsome team of oxen. 

Furst. You are too rash by far. He did no more 
Than what the governor had ordered him. 
You had transgress'd, and therefore should have paid 
The penalty, however hard, in silence. 

Melch. Was I to brook the fellow's saucy words ? 

" That if the peasant must have bread to eat, 

•' Why, let him go and draw the plough himself ! " 

It cut me to the very soul to see 

My oxen, noble creatures, when the knave 

Unyoked them from the plough. As though they felt 

The wrong, they lowed and butted with their horns. 

On this I could contain myself no longer, 

And, overcome by passion, struck him down. 

Furst. 0, we old men can scarce command ourselves ! 

And can we wonder youth should break its bounds ? 

Melch. I'm only sorry for my father's sake ! 

To be away from him, that needs so much 

My fostering care ! The governor detests him, 

Because he hath, whene'er occasion served, 

Stood stoutly up for right and liberty. 

Therefore they'll bear him hard — the poor old man ' 

And there is none to shield him from their gripe. 

Come what come may, I must go home again. 

Furst Compose yourself, and wait in patience till 
We get some tidings o'er from Unterwald. 

H H 



48(5 W1LHELM TELL, [ACT I. 

Away ! away ! I hear a knock ! Perhaps 
A message from the Viceroy ! Get thee in ! 
You are not safe from Landenberger's * arm 
In Uri, for these tyrants pull together. 

Melch. They teach us Switzers what we ought to do, 

Fuest. Away ! I'll call you when the coast is clear. 

[Melchthal ret i res . 
Unhappy youth ! I dare not tell him all 
The evil that my boding heart predicts ! 
Who's there ? The door ne'er opens, but I look 
For tidings of mishap. Suspicion lurks 
With darkling treachery in every nook. 
Even to our inmost rooms they force their way, 
These myrmidons of power ; and soon we'll need 
To fasten bolts and bars upon our doors. 

[He opens the door, and steps back in surprise as 
Weenee Stauffachee enters. 
What do I see ? You, Werner ? Now, by Heaven ! 
A valued guest, indeed. No man e'er set 
His foot across this threshold, more esteem'd. 
Welcome ! thrice welcome, Werner, to my roof! 
What brings you here ? What seek you here in Uri ? 

Stauff. {shakes Fuest by the hand). 

The olden times and olden Switzerland. 

Fuest You bring them with you. See how I'm rejoiced, 
My heart leaps at the very sight of you. 
Sit down — sit down, and tell me how you left 
Your charming wife, fair Gertrude ? Iberg's child, 
And clever as her father. Not a man, 
That wends from Germany, by Meinrad's Cell,f 
To Italy, but praises far and wide 
Your house's hospitality. But say, 
Have you come here direct from Fliielen, 
And have you noticed nothing on your way, 
Before you halted at my door ? 

Berenger von Landeiiberg, a man of noble family in Thurgau, and 
Governor of Unterwald, infamous for his cruelties to the Swiss, and parties 
larly to the venerable Henry of the Halden. He was slain at the battle of 
Morgarten, in 1315. 

+ A cell built in the 9th century, by Meinrad, Count of Hohenzollern, th* 
founder of the Convent of Einsiedeln, subsequently alluded to in the text. 



SO IV.] 



WILHELM TELL 



467 



Stauff. {sits down), I saw 

A work in progress, as I came along, 
I little thought to see — that likes me ill. 

Fukst. friend ! you've lighted on my thought at once. 

Stauff Such things in Uri ne'er were known before. 
Never was prison here in man's remembrance, 
Nor ever any stronghold but the grave. 

Fukst You name it well. It is the grave of freedom. 

Stauff Friend, Walter Fiirst, I will be plain with you. 
No idle curiosity it is, 

That brings me here, but heavy cares. I left 
Thraldom at home, and thraldom meets me here. 
Our wrongs, e'en now, are more than we can bear, 
And who shall tell us where they are to end ? 
From eldest time the Switzer has been free, 
Accustom'd only to the mildest rule. 
Such things as now we suffer, ne'er were known, 
Since herdsman first drove cattle to the hills. 

Furst Yes, our oppressions are unparallel'd ! 

Why, even our own good lord of Attinghaus, 
Who lived in olden times, himself declares. 
They are no longer to be tamely borne. 

Stauff. In Unterwalden yonder 'tis the same ; 
And bloody has the retribution been. 
The imperial Seneschal, the Wolfshot, who 
At Rossberg dwelt, long'd for forbidden fruit — 
Baumgarten's wife, that lives at Alzellen, 
He wished to overcome in shameful sort, 
On which the husband slew him with his axe. 

Fuest. 0, Heaven is just in all its judgments still! 
Baumgarten, say you ? A most worthy man. 
Has he escaped, and is he safely hid ? 

Stauff. Your son-in-law conveyed him o'er the lake, 
And he lies hidden in my house at Steinen. 
He brought the tidings with him of a thing 
That has been done at Sarnen, worse than all, 
A thing to make the very heart run blood ! 

Furst (attentively). 

Say on What is it ? 

Stauff. There dwells in Melchthal, then, 

Just ** you eater by the road from Kerns, 

H H 2 



468 



WILHELM TELL. 



An upright man, named Henry of the Halden, 
A man of weight and influence in the Diet. 
Furst. Who knows him not? But what of him? Proceed. 
Stauff. The Landenberg, to punish some offence, 
Committed by the old man's son, it seems, 
Had given command to take the youth's best pair 
Of oxen from his plough ; on which the* lad 
Struck down the messenger and took to flight. 
Fukst. But the old father — tell me, what of him ? 
Stauff. The Landenberg sent for him, and required 
He should produce his son upon the spot ; 
And when th' old man protested, and with truth, 
That he knew nothing of the fugitive, 
The tyrant call'd his torturers. 
Furst (springs up and tries to lead him to the other side). 

Hush, no more ! 
Stauffacher (with increasing warmth). 

"And though thy son," he cried, "has 'scaped me 

now, 
I have thee fast, and thou shalt feel my vengeance.'' 
With that they flung the old man to the earth, 
And plunged the pointed steel into his eyes. 
Furst. Merciful Heaven ! 
Melch. (rushing out). 

Into his eyes, his eyes ? 
Stauff . (addresses himself in astonishment to Walter Furst) 

Who is this youth ? 
Melch. (grasping him convulsively). 

Into his eyes ? Speak, speak ! 
Furst. Oh, miserable hour! 
Stauff. Who is it, tell me ? 

[Stauffacher makes a sign to him 
It is his son ! All righteous heaven ! 
Melch. And I 

Must be from thence ! What ! into both his eyes ? 
Furst. Be calm, be calm ; and bear it like a man ! 
Melch. And all for me — for my mad wilful folly ! 

Blind, did you say? Quite blind — and both his eyes? 
Stauff. Ev'n so. The fountain of his sight's dried up 

He ne'er will see the blessed sunshine more. 
Furst Oh, spare his anguish ! 



-> 



BC. IV. 



WILHEIM TELL. 46? 



Melch, Never, never more ! 

[Presses his hands upon his eyes and is silent for 
some moments; then turning from one to the 
other, speaks in a subdued tone, broken by sobs 

the eye's light, of all the gifts of Heaven, 
The dearest, best ! From light all beings live — 
Each fair created thing — the very plants 

Turn with a joyful transport to the light, 

And he — he must drag on through all his days 

In endless darkness ! Never more for him 

The sunny meads shall glow, the flow'rets bloom ; 

Nor shall he more behold the roseate tints 

Of the iced mountain top ! To die is nothing, 

But to have life, and not have sight, — oh. that 

Is misery indeed ! Why do you look 

So piteously at me ? I have two eyes, 

Yet to my poor blind father can give neither! 

No, not one gleam of that great sea of light 

That with its dazzling splendour floods my gaze. 

Stauff. Ah, I must swell the measure of your grief, 
Instead of soothing it. The worst, alas ! 
Remains to tell. They've stripp'd him of his all ; 
Nought have they left him, save his staff, on which. 
Blind, and in rags, he moves from door to door. 

Melch Nought but his staff to the old eyeless man! 
Stripp'd of his all — even of the light of day, 
The common blessing of the meanest wretch. 
Tell me no more of patience, of concealment ! 
Oh, v*hat a base and coward thing am I, 
That on mine own security I thought, 
And took no care of thine ! Thy precious head 
Left as a pledge within the tyrant's grasp ! 
Hence, craven-hearted prudence, hence ! And all 
My thoughts be vengeance, and the despot's blood ! 
I'll seek him straight — no power shall stay me now — 
And at his hands demand my father's eyes. 
I'll beard him 'mid a thousand myrmidons ! 
What's life to me, if in his heart's best blood 

1 cool the fever of this mighty anguish. [He is going 
Fctbst. Stay, this is madness, Melchthal ! What avails 

Your single arm against his power ? He sits 



470 WILHELM TELL. [ACT t 

At Sarnen high within his lordly keep, 
And, safe within its hattlemented walls, 
May laugh to scorn your unavailing rage. 
Melch. And though he sat within the icy domes 

Of yon far Schreckhorn — ay, or higher, where 

Veil'd since eternity, the Jungfrau soars, 

Still to the tyrant would I make my way ; 

With twenty comrades minded like myself, 

I'd lay his fastness level with the earth! 

And if none follow me, and if you all, 

In terror for your homesteads and your herds, 

Bow in submission to the tyrant's yoke, 

I'll call the herdsmen on the hills around me, 

And there beneath heaven's free and boundless roof, 

Where men still feel as men, and hearts are true, 

Proclaim aloud this foul enormity ! 

>TAUFF. (tO FuRST). 

'Tis at its height — and are we then to wait 
Till some extremity 

Melchthal. What extremity 

Eemains for apprehension, when men's eyes 

Have ceased to be secure within their sockets ? 

Are we defenceless ? Wherefore did we learn 

To bend the cross-bow, — wield the battle-axe ? 

W T hat living creature, but in its despair, 

Finds for itself a weapon of defence ? 

The baited stag will turn, and with the show 

Of his dread antlers hold the hounds at bay ; 

The chamois drags the huntsman down th' abyss ; 

The very ox, the partner of man's toil, 

The sharer of his roof, that meekly bends 

The strength of his huge neck beneath the yoke, 

Springs up, if he's provoked, whets his strong horn, 

And tosses his tormentor to the clouds. 

Furst. If the three Cantons thought as we three do, 

Something might, then, be done, with good effect. 

Stauff. When Uri calls, when Unterwald replies, 

Schwytz will be mindful of her ancient league *. 

* The League, or Bond, of the Three Cantons was ot very ancient origin. 
They met and renewed it from time to time, especiaJy when their liberties 



CC. TV.] WILHELM TELL. 471 

Melch. IVe many friends in Unterwald, and none 

That would not gladly venture life and limb, 
If fairly back'd and aided by the rest. 
Oh, sage and reverend fathers of this land, 
Here do I stand before your riper years, 
An unskiird youth, whose voice must in the Diet 
Still be subdued into respectful silence. 
Do not, because that I am young, and want 
Experience, slight my counsel and my words. 
Tis not the wantonness of youthful blood 

were threatened with danger. A remarkable instance of this occurred in 
the end of the 13th century, when Albert, of Austria, became Emperor, and 
when, possibly, for the first time, the Bond was reduced to writing. As it 
is important to the understanding of many passages of the play, a transla- 
tion is subjoined of the oldest known document relating to it. The original, 
which is in Latin and German, is dated in August, 1291, and is under the 
seals of the whole of the men of Schwytz, the commonalty of the vale of 
Uri and the whole of the men of the upper and lower vales of Stanz. 

THE BOND. 

Be it known to every one, that the men of the Dale of Uri, the Com- 
munity of Schwytz, as also the men of the mountains of Unterwald, in 
consideration of the evil times, have full confidently bound themselves, and 
sworn to help each other with all their power and might, property and 
people, against all who shall do violence to them, or any of them. That is 
our Ancient Bond. 

Whoever hath a Seignior, let him obey according to the conditions of his 
service. 

We are agreed to receive into these dales no Judge, who is not a country- 
man and indweller, or who hath bought his place. 

Every controversy amongst the sworn confederates shall be determined by 
some of the sagest of their number, and if any one shall challenge their 
judgment, then shall he be constrained to obey it by the rest. 

Whoever intentionally or deceitfully kills another, shall be executed, 
and whoever shelters him shall be banished. 

Whoever burns the property of another shall no longer be regarded as a 
countryman, and whoever shelters him shall make good the damage done. 

Whoever injures another, or robs him, and hath property in our country, 
shall make satisfaction out of the same. 

No one shall distrain a debtor without a judge, nor any one who is not 
flis debtor, or the surety for such debtor. 

Every one in these dales shall submit to the judge, or we, the sworn 
eonfederates, all will take satisfaction for all the injury occasioned by his 
contumacy. And if in any internal division the one party will not accept 
justice, all the rest shall help the other party. These decrees shall, Ghd 
willing, endure eternally for our general advantage 



*72 WILHELM TELI [ACT L 

That fires my spirit ; but a pang so deep 
That e'en the flinty rocks must pity me. 
You, too, are fathers, heads of families, 
And you must wish to have a virtuous son, 
To reverence your grey hairs, and shield your eyes 
With pious and affectionate regard. 
^ — Ikrnot, I pray, because in limb and fortune 
You still are unassail'd, and still your eyes 
Revolve undimm'd and sparkling in their spheres ; 
Oh, do not, therefore, disregard our wrongs ! 
Above you, too, doth hang the tyrant's sword. 
You, too, have striven to alienate the land 
From Austria. This was all my father's crime : 
You share his guilt, and may his punishment. 

Stauffacher (to Furst). 

Do thou resolve ! I am prepared to follow. 

Furst. First let us learn, what steps the noble lords 
Von Sillinen and Attinghaus propose. 
Their names would rally thousands in the cause. 

Melch. Is there a name within the Forest Mountains 

That carries more respect than thine — and thine ? 
To names like these the people cling for help 
With confidence — such names are household words. 
Rich was your heritage of manly virtue, 
And richly have you added to its stores. 
What need of nobles ? Let us do the work 
Ourselves. Although we stood alone, methinks, 
We should be able to maintain our rights. 

Stauff. The nobles' wrongs are not so great as ours. 

The torrent, that lays waste the lower grounds, 
Hath not ascended to the uplands yet. 
But let them see the country once in arms, 
They'll not refuse to lend a helping hand. 

Fuhst. Were there an umpire 'twixt ourselves and Austria, 
Justice and law might then decide our quarrel. 
But our oppressor is our emperor too, 
And judge supreme. 'Tis God must help us, then, 
And our own arm ! Be yours the task to rouse 
The men of Schwytz . I'll rally friends in Uri. 
But w T hom are we to send to Unterwald ? 

Melch. Thither send me. Whom should it more concern ? 



SO. IV. J WILHELM TELL. 478 

Furst. No, Melchthal, no ; thou art my guest, and I 
Must answer for thy safety. 

Melchthal. Let me go. 

I know each forest track and mountain pass ; 
Friends too I'll find, be sure, on every hand, 
To give me willing shelter from the foe. 

Stauff. Nay, let him go ; no traitors harbour there : 
For tyranny is so abhorred in Unterwald, 
No minions can be found to work her will. 
In the low valleys, too, the Alzeller 
Will gain confederates, and rouse the country. 

Melch. But how shall we communicate, and not 
Awaken the suspicion of the tyrants ? 

Stauff. Might we not meet at Brunnen or at Treib, 

Hard by the spot where merchant vessels land ? 

Furst. We must not go so openly to work. 

Hear my opinion. On the lake's left bank, 
As we sail hence to Brunnen, right against 
The Mytenstein, deep-hidden in the wood 
A meadow lies, by shepherds called the Rootli, 
Because the wood has been uprooted there. 
'Tis where our Canton bound'ries verge on yours ; — 

[To Melchthal 
Your boat will carry you across from Schwytz. 

[To Stauffacher, 
Thither by lonely bypaths let us wend 
At midnight, and deliberate o'er our plans. 
Let each bring with him there ten trusty men, 
All one at heart with us ; and then we may 
Consult together for the general weal, 
And, with God's guidance, fix our onward course. 

Stauff. So let it be. And now your true right hand ! 

Yours, too, young man ! and as we now three men 
Among ourselves thus knit our hands together 
In all sincerity and truth, e'en so 
Shall we three Cantons, too, together stand 
In victory and defeat, in life and death. 

Furst and Melchthal. 
In life and death. 

IThey hold their hands clasped together for sorns 
moments in silence. 



474 WILHELM TELL. [ACT U. 

Melchthal. Alas, my old blind father! 

Thou canst no more behold the day of freedom , 
But thou shalt hear it. When from Alp to Alp 
The beacon fires throw up their flaming signs, 
And the proud castles of the tyrants fall, 
Into thy cottage shall the Switzer burst, 
Bear the glad tidings to thine ear, and o'er 
Thy darken 'd way shall Freedom's radiance pour. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. 
The Mansion of the Baron of Attinghausen A Gothio 
Hall, decorated with escutcheons and helmets. The Babon, 
a grey-headed man, eighty-five years old, tall and of a com- 
mandmg mien, clad in a furred pelisse, and leaning on a 
staff tipped with chamois horn. Kuoni and six hinds stand- 
ing round him with rakes and scythes Ulrich of Rudenz 
enters in the costume of a Knight. 

Rud. . . Uncle, I'm here ! Your will? 

Attinghausen. First let me share, 

After the ancient custom of our house, 
The morning cup, with these my faithful servants ! 

[He drinks from a cup, which is then passed round. 
Time was, I stood myself in field and wood, 
With mine own eyes directing all their toil, 
Even as my banner led them in the fight, 
Now I am only fit to play the steward ; 
And, if the genial sun come not to me, 
I can no longer seek it on the mountains. 
Thus slowly, in an ever narrowing sphere, 
I move on to the narrowest and the last, 
Where all life's pulses cease. I now am but 
The shadow of my former self, and that 
Is fading fast — 'twill soon be but a name 

Kuoni (offering Rudenz the cup). 
A pledge, young master ! 

[Rudenz hesitates to take the cup 
Nay, Sir, drink it off! 
One cup, one heart ! You know our proverb, Sir T 



sc l] wilhelm tell. -475 

Attikg. Go, children, and at eve, when work is done, 

We'll meet and talk the country's business over. 

[Exeunt Servants 
Belted and plumed, and all thy bravery on ! 
Thou art for Altdorf — for the castle, boy ? 

Rud. . . Yes, uncle. Longer may I not delay — 

Attinghausen {sitting down). 

Why in such haste ? Say, are thy youthful hours 
Doled in such niggard measure, that thou must 
Be chary of them to thy aged uncle ? 

Rud. . . I see, my presence is not needed here, 
I am but as a stranger in this house. 

Attinghausen [gazes fixedly at him for a considerable time). 
Alas, thou art indeed ! Alas, that home 
To thee has grown so strange ! Oh, Uly ! Uly ! 
I scarce do know thee now, thus deek'd in silks, 
The peacock's feather * flaunting in thy cap, 
And purple mantle round thy shoulders flung ; 
Thou look'st upon the peasant with disdain, 
And takest with a blush his honest greeting. 

Rud. . . All honour due to him I gladly pay, 

But must deny the right he would usurp. 

Atting. The sore displeasure of the king is resting 
Upon the land, and every true man's heart 
Is full of sadness for the grievous wrongs 
We suffer from our tyrants. Thou alone 
Art all unmoved amid the general grief 
Abandoning thy friends, thou tak'st thy stand 
Beside thy country's foes, and, as in scorn 
Of our distress, pursuest giddy joys, 
Courting the smiles of princes, all the while 
Thy country bleeds beneath their cruel scourge 

Rud. . . The land is sore oppress'd, I know it, uncle. 
But why ? Who plunged it into this distress ? 
A word, one little easy word, might buy 
Instant deliverance from such dire oppression, 
And win the good will of the Emperor. 

* The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plume of peacocks 
leathers in their helmets. After tae overthrow of the Austrian dominion 
in Switzerland, it was made highly penal to wear the peacock's feather at 
any public assembly there. 



4 76 WILHELM TVTX [ACT IL 

Woe unto those, who seal the people's eyes, 

And make them adverse to their country's good — 

The men, who, for their own vile selfish e^H 

Are seeking to prevent the Forest States 

From swearing fealty to Austria's House, 

As all the countries round about have done. 

It fits their humour well, to take their seats 

Amid the nobles on the Herrenbank * ; 

They'll have the Caesar for their lord, forsooth, — 

That is to say, they'll have no lord at all. 

Atting. Must I hear this, and from thy lips, rash boy ! 

Hud. . . You urged me to this answer. Hear me out. 
What, uncle, is the character you've stoop 'd 
To fill contentedly through life ? Have you 
No higher pride, than in these lonely wilds 
To be the Landamman or Banneret f, 
The petty chieftain of a shepherd race ? 
How ! Were it not a far more glorious choice, 
To bend in homage to our royal lord, 
And swell the princely splendours of his court, 
Than sit at home, the peer of your own vassals, 
And share the judgment-seat with vulgar clowns ? 

Atting. Ah, Uly, Uly; all too well I see, 

The tempter's voice has caught thy willing ear, 
And pour'd its subtle poison in thy heart. 

Rud. . . Yes, I conceal it not. It doth offend 

My inmost soul, to hear the stranger's gibes, 

That taunt us with the name of " Peasant Nobles t* 

Think you the heart that's stirring here can brook, 

While all the young nobility around 

Are reaping honour under Habsburg's banner, 

That I should loiter, in inglorious ease, 

Here on the heritage my fathers left, 

And, in the dull routine of vulgar toil, 

Lose all life's glorious spring? In other lands 

Deeds are achieved. A world of fair renown 

Beyond these mountains stirs in martial pomp. 

* The bench reserved for the nobility. 

f The Landamman was an officer chosen by the Swiss Gemeinde, or Diet, 
to preside over them. The Banneret was an officer entrusted with the 
keeping cf the State Banner, and such others as were taken in battle. 



rC iJ WILHELM TKLfi. 477 

My helm and shield are rusting in the hall ; 

The martial trumpet's spirit-stirring blast, 

The herald's call, inviting to the lists, 

Rouse not the echoes of these vales, where nought, 

Save cowherd's horn and cattle bell, is heard, 

In one unvarying dull monotony. 

Atttng- Deluded boy, seduced by empty show ! 

Despise the land that gave thee birth ! Ashamed 

Of the good ancient customs of thy sires ! 

The day w T ill come, when thou, with burning tears, 

Wilt long for home, and for thy native hills, 

And that dear melody of tuneful herds, 

Which now, in proud disgust, thou dost despise ! 

A day when thou wilt drink its tones in sadness, 

Hearing their music in a foreign land. 

Oh ! potent is the spell that binds to home ! 

No, no, the cold, false world is not for thee. 

At the proud court, with thy true heart, thou wilt 

For ever feel a stranger among strangers. 

The world asks virtues of far other stamp 

Than thou hast learned within these simple vales. 

But go — go thither, — barter thy free soul, 

Take land in fief, become a prince's vassal, 

Where thou might 'st be lord paramount, and prince 

Of all thine own unburden 'd heritage ! 

O, TJly, Uly, stay among thy people ! 

Go not to Altdorf. Oh, abandon not 

The sacred cause of thy wrong'd native land ! 

I am the last of all my race. My name 

Ends with me. Yonder hang my helm and shield; 

They will be buried with me in the grave *. 

And must I think, when yielding up my breath, 

That thou but wait'st the closing of mine eyes, 

To stoop thy knee to this new feudal court, 

And take in vassalage from Austria's hands 

The noble lands, which I from God received, 

Free and unfetter 'd as the mountain air ! 

Hud. . . 'Tis vain for us to strive against the king. 

The world pertains to him : — shall we alone, 

* According to the custom, by which, when the last male descendant of a 
uoble family died, his sword, helmet, and shield, were buried with him, 



478 , WILHELM TELL. [ACT tL 

In niad presumptuous obstinacy, strive 
To break that mighty chain of lands, which he 
Hath drawn around us with his giant grasp. 
His are the markets, his the courts, — his too 
The highways ; nay, the very carrier's horse, - 
That traffics on the Gotthardt, pays him toll. 
By his dominions, as within a net, 
We are enclosed, and girded round about. 
— And will the Empire shield us ? Say, can it 
Protect itself gainst Austria's growing power ? 
To God, and not to emperors must we look ! 
What store can on their promises be placed, 
When they, to meet their own necessities, 
Can pawn, and even alienate the towns 
That flee for shelter 'neath the Eagle's wings * ? 
No, uncle ! It is wise and wholesome prudence, 
In times like these, when faction's all abroad, 
To own attachment to some mighty chief. 
The imperial crown's transferred from line to line f, 
It has no memory for faithful service : 
But to secure the favour of these great 
Hereditary masters, were to sow 
Seed for a future harvest. 
Attinghausen. Art so wise? 

Wilt thou see clearer than thy noble sires, 
Who battled for fair freedom's costly gem, 
With life, and fortune, and heroic arm ? 
Sail down the lake to Lucern, there inquire, 
How Austria's rale doth weigh the Cantons down. 
Soon she will come to count our sheep, our cattle, 
To portion out the Alps, e'en to their summits, 
And in our own free woods to hinder us 
From striking down the eagle or the stag ; 
To set her tolls on every bridge and gate, 
Impoverish us, to swell her lust of sway, 
And drain our dearest blood to feed her wars 

* This frequently occurred. But in the event of an imperial city being 
mortgaged for the purpose of raising money, it lost its freedom, and was con« 
sidered as put out of the realm. 

f An allusion to the ' circumstance ol the Imperial Crown not being 
hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the Counts of the Empire . 



SC. :.] WIIJTELM TELL. 470 

No, if our blood must flow, let it be shed 
In our own cause ! We purchase liberty 
More cheaply far than bondage. 

Rudenz. What can we, 

A shepherd race, against great Albert's hosts ? 

Acting. Learn, foolish boy, to know this shepherd race i 
I know them, I have led them on in fight, — 
I saw them in the battle at Favenz. 
Austria will try, forsooth, to force on us 
A yoke we are determined not to bear ! 
Oh, learn to feel from what a race thou'rt sprung ! 
Cast not, for tinsel trash and idle show, 
The precious jewel of thy worth away. 
To be the chieftain of a free born race, 
Bound to thee only by their unbought love, 
Ready to stand — to fight — to die with thee, 
Be that thy pride, be that thy noblest boast ! 
Knit to thy heart the ties of kindred — home — 
Cling to the land, the dear land of thy sires, 
Grapple to that with thy whole heart and soul ! 
Thy power is rooted deep and strongly here. 
But in yon stranger world thou'lt stand alone, 
A trembling reed beat down by every blast. 
Oh come ! 'tis long since we have seen thee, Uly ! 
Tarry but this one day. Only to-day 
Go not to Altdorf. Wilt thou ? Not to-day ! 
For this one day, bestow thee on thy friends. 

[Takes his hand 

Rud. . I gave my word. Unhand me ! I am bound. 

Attin 3r. (drops his hand and says sternly) 

Bound, didst thou say ? Oh yes, unhappy boy, 
Thou art indeed. But not by word or oath. 
'Tis by the silken mesh of love thou'rt bound. 

[Rudenz turns away 
Ay, hide thee, as thou wilt. 'Tis she, I know, 
Bertha of Bruneck, draws thee to the court ; 
'Tis she that chains thee to the Emperor's service, 
Thou think'st to win the noble knightly maid 
By thy apostacy. Be not deceived. 
She is held out before thee as a lure ; 
But never meant for innocence like thine 



480 WILHELM TELL [ACT II. 

Rud. . . No more, I've heard enough. So fare you well. 

[Exit 

Atting. Stay, Uly ! Stay ! Rash boy, he's gone ! I can 
Nor hold him back, nor save him from destruction 
And so the Wolfshot has deserted us ; — 
Others will follow his example soon. 
This foreign witchery, sweeping o'er our hills, 
Tears with its potent spell our youth away i 

luckless hour, when men and manners strange 
Into these calm and happy valleys came, 

To warp our primitive and guileless ways. 
The new is pressing on with might. The old, 
The good, the simple, fleeteth fast away. 
New times come on. A race is springing up, 
That think not as their fathers thought before ! 
What do I here ? All, all are in the grave 
With whom erewhile I moved, and held converse ; 
My age has long been laid beneath the sod : 
Happy the man, who may not live to see 
What shall be done by those that follow me ! 

Scene II. 

A meadow surrounded by high rocks and wooded ground 
On the rocks are tracks, with rails and ladders, by which the 
peasants are afterwards seen descending. In the back-ground 
the lake is observed, and over it a moon rainbow in the early 
part of the scene. The prospect is closed by lofty mountains, 
with glaciers rising behind them. The stage is dark ; but 
the lake and glaciers glisten in the moonlight. 

Melchthal, Baumgarten, Winkelkied, Meyer von Sab- 
nen, burkhart am buhel, arnold von sewa, 
Klaus von der Flue, and four other peasants, all armed. 

Melchthal (behind the scenes). 

The mountain pass is open. Follow me ! 

1 see the rock, and little cross upon it : 
This is the spot ; here is the Rootli. 

{Then enter with torches 
Wjnkelried Hark ! 

Sewa. The coast is clear. 



60, II.] WILHELM TELL. 481 

Meyee. None of our comrades come ? 

We are the first, we Unterwaldeners,. 
Melch. How far is't i' the night ? 
Baum. The beacon watch 

Upon the Selisberg has just called two. 

[A bell is heard at a distance 
Meyee. Hush ! Hark ! 

Buhel. The forest chapel's matin bell 

Chimes clearly o'er the lake from Switzerland. 
Von F. The air is clear, and bears the sound so far. 
Melch. Go, you and you, and light some broken boughs, 
Let's bid them welcome with a cheerful blaze. 

[Two peasants exeunt 
Sewa. The moon shines fair to-night. Beneath its beams 

The lake reposes, bright as burnish'd steel. 
Buhel. They'll have an easy passage. 
Wink, [pointing to the lake). Ha ! look there ! 

See you nothing ? 
Meyee. What is it ? Ay, indeed ! 

A rainbow in the middle of the night. 
Melch. Formed by the bright reflection of the moon ! 
Von F. A sign most strange and wonderful, indeed ! 

Many there be, who ne'er have seen the like. 
Sewa. 'Tis doubled, see, a paler one above ! 
Baum. A boat is gliding yonder right beneath it. 
Melch. That must be Werner Stauffacher ! I knew 
The worthy patriot would not tarry long. 

[Goes with Baumgaeten towards the shore 
Meyee. The Uri men are like to be the last. 
Buhel. They're forced to take a winding circuit through 
The mountains ; for the Viceroy's spies are out. 

[In the meanwhile the two peasants have kindled 
afire in the centre of the stage. 
Melch. [on the shore). 

Who's there ? The word ? 
Stauff. [from below). Friends of the country. 

[All retire up the stage, towards the party landing 
from the boat. Enter Stauffachee, Itel Red- 
ing, Hans auf dee Mauee, Joeg- im Hofe. 

CONEAD HUNN, UlEICH DEE SCHMIDT, JOST VOS 

Weilee, and three other peasants, armed. 

I i 



482 WILHELM TELL [ACT II. 

All Welcome ! 

[While the rest remain behind exchanging greet- 
ings, Melchthal comes forward with Stauf- 

FACHEK. 

Melch. Oh worthy Stauffacher, I've look'd but now 
On him, who could not look on me again. 
I've laid my hands upon his rayless eyes, 
And on their vacant orbits sworn a vow 
Of vengeance, only to be cool'd in blood. 

Stauff. Speak not of vengeance. We are here, to meet 
The threatened evil, not to avenge the past. 
Now tell me what you've done, and what secured, 
To aid the common cause in Unterwald, 
How stand the peasantry disposed, and how 
Yourself escaped the wiles of treachery ? 

Melch. Through the Surenen's fearful mountain chain, 
Where dreary ice-fields stretch on every side, 
And sound is none, save the hoarse vulture's cry, 
I reach'd the Alpine pasture, where the herds 
From Uri and from Engelberg resort, 
And turn their cattle forth to graze in common. 
Still as I went along, I slaked my thirst 
With the coarse oozings of the lofty glacier, 
That thro' the crevices come foaming down, 
And turned to rest me in the herdsmen's cots*, 
Where I was host and guest, until I gain'd 
The cheerful homes and social haunts of men. 
Already through these distant vales had spread 
The rumour of this last atrocity ; 
And wheresoe'er I went, at every door, 
Kind words and gentle looks were there to greet me 
I found these simple spirits all in arms 
Against our rulers' tyrannous encroachments. 
For as their Alps through each succeeding year 
Yield the same roots, — their streams flow ever on 
In the same channels, — nay, the clouds and winds 
The selfsame course unalterably pursue, 

* These are the cots, or shealings, erected by the herdsmen for shelter, 
while pasturing their herds on the mountains during the summer. These 
are left deserted in winter, during which period Melchthal's journey was 
taken. 



6C. II.] WILHELM TELL. 483 

So have old customs there, from sire to son, 

Been handed down, unchanging and unchanged ; 

Nor will they brook to swerve or turn aside 

From the fixed even tenor of their life. 

With grasp of their hard hands they welcomed me, — 

Took from the walls their rusty falchions down, — 

And from their eyes the soul of valour flash 'd 

With joyful lustre, as I spoke those names, 

Sacred to every peasant in the mountains, 

Your own and Walter Fiirst's. Whate'er your voice 

Should dictate as the right, they swore to do ; 

And you they swore to follow e'en to death. 

— So sped I on from house to house, secure 

In the guest's sacred privilege ; — and when 

I reached at last the valley of my home, 

Where dwell my kinsmen, scatter 'd far and near — 

And when I found my father, stript and blind. 

Upon the stranger's straw, fed by the alms 

Of charity 

Statjffachek. , Great Heaven ! 

Melchthal. Yet wept I not ! 

No — not in weak and unavailing tears 
Spent I the force of my fierce burning anguish ; 
Deep in my bosom, like some precious treasure? 
I lock'd it fast, and thought on deeds alone. 
Through every winding of the hills I crept, — 
No valley so remote but I explored it ; 
Nay, even at the glacier's ice-clad base, 
I sought and found the homes of living men ; 
And still, where'er my wandering footsteps turn'd- 
The selfsame hatred of these tyrants met me. 
For even there, at vegetation's verge, 
Where the numb'd earth is barren of all fruits, 
Their grasping hands had been streteh'd forth foi 

plunder. 
Into the hearts of all this honest race, 
The story of my wrongs struck deep, and now 
They, to a man, are ours ; both heart and hand. 

Stauff. Great things, indeed, you've wrought in little time. 

Melch. I did still more than this. The fortresses, 

I I 2 



484 



WILHELM TELL. 



[act il 



Eossberg and Sarnen, are the country's dread ; 
For from behind their rocky walls the foe 
Swoops, as the eagle from his eyrie, down, 
And, safe himself, spreads havoc o'er the land. 
With my own eyes I wish'd to weigh its strength, 
So went to Sarnen, and explored the castle. 

Stauff. How ! Risk thyself e'en in the tiger's den ? 

Melch. Disguised in pilgrim's weeds I entered it ; 
I saw the Viceroy feasting at his board — 
Judge if I'm master of myself or no ! 
I saw the tyrant, and I slew him not ! 

Stauff. Fortune, indeed, has smiled upon your boldness. 

[Meanwhile the others have arrived and join 
Melchthal and Stauffacher. 
Yet tell me now, 1 pray, who are the friends, 
The worthy men, who came along with you ? 
Make me acquainted with them, that we may 
Speak frankly, man to man, and heart to heart. 

Meyer. In the three Cantons, who, sir, knows not you? 
Meyer of Sarnen is my name ; and this 
Is S truth of Winkelried, my sister's son. 

Stauff. No unknown name. A Winkelried it was, 
Who slew the dragon in the fen at Weiler, 
And lost his life in the encounter, too. 

Wink. That, Master Stauffacher, was my grandfather. 

Melch. (pointing to two peasants). 

These two are men belonging to the convent 
Of Engelberg, and live behind the forest. 
You'll not think ill of them, because they're serfs, 
And sit not free upon the soil, like us. 
They love the land, and bear a good repute. 

Stauffacher (to them). 

Give me your hands. He has good cause for thanks, 
That unto no man owes his body's service. 
But worth is worth, no matter where 'tis found 

Hunn. That is Herr Eeding, sir, our old Landamman. 

Meyer. I know him well. There is a suit between us, 
About a piece of ancient heritage. 
Herr Reding, we are enemies in court, 
Here we are one. [Shakes his hand 



6C 11.] WILHELM TELL. 485 

Stauffacher. That's well and bravely said. 

Wink. Listen i They come. Hark to the horn of Uri ! 

[On the right and left armed men are seen descend 
ing the rocks with torches. 

Mauer. Look, is not that God's pious servant there ? 
A worthy priest ! The terrors of the night, 
And the way's pains and perils scare not him 
A faithful shepherd caring for his flock. 

Baum. The Sacrist follows him, and Walter Furst. 
But where is Tell ? I do not see him there. 

[Walter Furst, Kosselmann the Pastor, Peter- 
mann the Sacrist, Kuoni the Shepherd, Werni 
the Huntsman, Kuodi the Fisherman, and Jive 
other countrymen, thirty-three in all, advance 
and take their places round the fire. 

Furst. Thus must we, on the soil our fathers left us, 
Creep forth by stealth to meet like murderers, 
And in the night, that should her mantle lend 
Only to crime and black conspiracy, 
Assert our own good rights, which yet are clear 
As is the radiance of the noonday sun. 

Melch. So be it. What is woven in gloom of night 
Shall free and boldly meet the morning light. 

Eossel. Confederates ! listen to the words which God 
Inspires my heart withal. Here we are met, 
To represent the general weal. In us 
Are all the people of the land convened. 
Then let us hold the Diet, as of old, 
And as we're wont in peaceful times to do. 
The time's necessity be our excuse, 
If there be aught informal in this meeting. 
Still, wheresoe'er men strike for justice, there 
Is God, and now beneath his heav'n we stand. 

Stauff. 'Tis well advised. — Let us, then, hold the Diet, 
According to our ancient usages. — 
Though it be night, there's sunshine in our cause 

Melch. Few though our numbers be, the hearts are hero 
Of the whole people ; here the best are met. 

Hunn. The ancient books may not be near at hand, 
Yet are they graven in our inmost hearts. 



486 WILHELM TELL. [ACT II. 

Rossel. 'Tis well. And now, then, let a ring be formed, 

And plant the swords of power within the ground * 
Mauee. Let the Landamman step into his place, 

And by his side his secretaries stand. 
Saceist. There are three Cantons here. Which hath the right 

To give the head to the united Council ? 
Schwytz may contest that dignity with Uri, 

We Unterwald'ners enter not the field. 
Melch. We stand aside. We are but suppliants here, 

Invoking aid from our more potent friends. 
Stauff. Let Uri have the sword. Her banner takes, 

In battle, the precedence of our own. 
Fuest. Schwytz, then, must share the honour of the sword ; 

For she's the honoured ancestor of all. 
Rossel. Let me arrange this generous controversy. 

Uri shall lead in battle — Schwytz in Council. 
Fuest (gives Stauffachee his hand). 

Then take your place. 
Stauffachee. Not I. Some older man. 

Hofe. Ulrich, the Smith, is the most aged here. 
Mauee. A worthy man, but he is not a freeman ; 

— No bondman can be judge in Switzerland. 
Stauff. Is not Herr Reding here, our old Landamman ? 

Where can we find a worthier man than he ? 
Fuest. Let him be Amman and the Diet's chief ! 

You that agree with me, hold up your hands ! 

[All hold tip their right hands 
Reding- ^stepping into the centre). 

I cannot lay my hands upon the books ; 

But by yon everlasting stars I swear,. 

Never to swerve from justice and the right. 

[The two swords are placed before him, and a circle 
formed ; Schwytz in the centre, Uri on his right 
Unterwald on his left. 
Reding (resting on his battle sword). 

Why, at the hour when spirits walk the earth, 

Meet the three Cantons of the mountains here, 

* It was the custom at the Meetings of the Landes Gremeinde, or "Diet, to 
set swords upright in the ground as emblems of authority. 



SC. II.] W1LHELM TELL 487 

Upon the lake's inhospitable shore ? 
And what the purport of the new alliance 
We here contract beneath the starry Heaven ? 

Stauffacher (entering the circle). 

No new alliance do we now contract, 
• But one our fathers framed, in ancient times, 
We purpose to renew ! For know, confederates, 
Though mountain ridge and lake divide our bounds, 
And every Canton's ruled by its own laws, 
Yet are we but one race, bom of one blood, 
And all are children of one common home 

Wink. Then is the burden of our legends true, 

That we came hither from a distant land ? 

Oh, tell us what you know, that our new league 

May reap fresh vigour from the leagues of old. 

Stauff. Hear, then, what aged herdsmen tell. There dwelt 
A mighty people in the land that lies 
Back to the north. The scourge of famine came ; 
And in this strait 'twas publicly resolved, 
That each tenth man, on whom the lot might fall, 
Should leave the country. They obey'd — and forth, 
With loud lamentings, men and women went, 
A mighty host ; and to the south moved on, 
Cutting their way through Germany by the sword, 
Until they gained these pine-clad hills of ours ; 
Nor stopp'd they ever on their forward course, 
Till at the shaggy dell they halted, where 
The Miita flows through its luxuriant meads. 
No trace of human creature met their eye, 
Save one poor hut upon the desert shore, 
Where dwelt a lonely man, and kept the ferry. 
A tempest raged — the lake rose mountains high 
And barr'd their further progress. Thereupon 
They view'd the country — found it rich in wood, 
Discover'd goodly springs, and felt as they 
Were in their own dear native land once more 
Then they resolved to settle on the spot; 
Erected there the ancient town of Schwytz ; 
And many a day of toil had they to clear 
The tangled brake and forest's spreading roots. 
Meanwhile their numbers grew, -the soil became 



^8B WILHELM TELL. [ACT H 

Unequal to sustain them, and they cross'd 

To the black mountain, far as Weissland, where, 

Conceal'd behind eternal walls of ice, 

Another people speak another tongue. 

They built the village Stanz, beside the Kernwald ; 

The village Altdorf, in the vale of Eeuss ; 

Yet, ever mindful of their parent stem, 

The men of Schwytz, from all the stranger race, 

That since that time have settled in the land, 

Each other recognize. Their hearts still know, 

And beat fraternally to kindred blood. 

[Extends his hand right and left 

Mauer, Ay, we are all one heart, one blood, one race ! 

All {joining hands). 

We are one people, and will act as one. 

Stauff. The nations round us bear a foreign yoke ; 
For they have yielded to the conqueror. 
Nay, e'en within our frontiers may be found 
Some, that owe villein service to a lord, 
A race of bonded serfs from sire to son. 
But we, the genuine race of ancient Swiss, 
* Have kept our freedom from the first till now. 
Never to princes have we bow'd the knee ; 
Freely we sought protection of the Empire. 

Rossel. Freely we sought it — freely it was given. 

'Tis so set down in Emperor Frederick's charter. 

Stauff. For the most free have still some feudal lord. 
There must be still a chief, a judge supreme, 
To whom appeal may lie, in case of strife. 
And therefore was it, that our sires ailow'd, 
For what tit*/ had recover 'd from the waste, 
This honour to the Emperor, the lord 
Of all the German and Italian soil ; 
And, like the other free men of his realm, 
Engaged to aid him with their swords in war ; 
And this alone should be the free man's duty, 
To guard the Empire that keeps guard for him. 

Melch. He's but a slave that would acknowledge more. 

Stauff. They followed, when the Heribann* went forth, 

* The Heribaim was a muster of warriors similar tc the arriere ban 
France, 



BG. II.] WILHELM TELL. 489 

The imperial standard, and they fought it3 battles I 

To Italy they march 'd in arms, to place 

The Csesars' crown upon the Emperor's head. 

But still at home they ruled themselves in peace, 

By their own laws and ancient usages. 

The Emperor's only right was to adjudge 

The penalty of death ; he therefore named 

Some mighty noble as his delegate, 

That had no stake nor interest in the land 

He was call'd in, when doom was to be pass'd, 

And, in the face of day, pronounced decree, 

Clear and distinctly, fearing no man's hate. 

What traces here, that w r e are bondsmen ? Speak, 

If there be any can gainsay my words ! 

Hofe. No ! You have spoken but the simple truth ; 
We never stoop'd beneath a tyrant's yoke. 

Stauff. Even to the Emperor we refused obedience, 

When he gave judgment in the church's favour; 

For when the Abbey of Einsiedlen claimed 

The Alp our fathers and ourselves had grazed, 

And showed an ancient charter, which bestowed 

The land on them as being ownerless — 

For our existence there had been concealed — 

What was our answer ° • This. " The grant is void* 

No Emperor can bestow what is our own : 

And if the Empire shall deny us justice, 

We can, within our mountains, right ourselves !" 

Thus spake our fathers ! And shall we endure 

The shame and infamy of this new yoke, 

And from the vassal brook what never king 

Dared, in the fulness of his power, attempt ? 

This soil we have created for ourselves, 

By the hard labour of our hands ; w r e've changed 

The giant forest, that was erst the haunt 

Of savage bears, into a home for man ; 

Extirpated the dragon's brood, that wont 

To rise, distent with venom, from the swamps ; 

Eent the thick misty canopy that hung 

Its blighting vapours on the dreary waste ; 

Blasted the solid rock ; o'er the abyss 

Thrown the firm bridge for the wayfaring man : 



49C WILHELM TELL. [ACT 11 

By the possession of a thousand years 
The soil is ours. And shall an alien lord, 
Himself a vassal, dare to venture here, 
On our own hearths insult us, — and attempt 
To forge the chains of bondage for our hands, 
And do us shame on our own proper soil ? 
Is there no help against such wrong as this ? 

[Great sensation among the people 
Yes ! there's a limit to the despot's power ! 
When the oppress'd looks round in vain for justice, 
When his sore burden may no more be borne, 
With fearless heart he makes appeal to Heaven, 
And thence brings down his everlasting rights, 
Which there abide, inalienably his, 
And indestructible as are the stars. 
Nature's primaeval state returns again, 
Where man stands hostile to his fellow man ; 
And if all other means shall fail his need, 
One last resource remains — his own good sword. 
Our dearest treasures call to us for aid, 
Against the oppressor's violence ; we stand 
For country, home, for wives, for children here ! 

All (clashing their swords). 

Here stand we for our homes, our wives, and 
children. 

Rosselmann {stepping into the circle). 

Bethink ye well, before ye draw the sword. 
Some peaceful compromise may yet be made ; 
Speak but one word, and at your feet you'll see 
The men who now oppress you. Take the terms 
That have been often tendered you ; renounce 
The Empire, and to Austria swear allegiance ! 

Mauer. What says the priest ? To Austria allegiance ? 

Buhel. Hearken not to him ! 

Winkelried. 'Tis a traitor 's counsel, 

His country's foe ! 

Reding. Peace, peace, confederates ! 

Serva. Homage to Austria, after wrongs like these ! 

Flue. Shall Austria extort from us by force, 

What we denied to kindness and entreaty ? 

Meyer Then should we all be slaves, deservedly. 



SO. II.] WILHELM TELL. 491 

Mauer. Yes ! Let him forfeit all a Switzer's rights, 

Who talks of yielding to the yoke of Austria ! 
I stand on this, Landamman. Let this be 
The foremost of our laws ! 

Melchthal. Even so ! Whoe'er 

Shall talk of tamely bearing Austria's yoke, 
Let him be stripp'd of all his rights and honours ; 
And no man hence receive him at his hearth ! 

All (raising their right hands). 

Agreed ! Be this the law ! 

Reding (after a pause). The law it is. 

Rossel. Now you are free — by this law you are free. 
Never shall Austria obtain by force 
What she has fail'd to gain by friendly suit. 

Wetl. On with the order of the day ! Proceed ! 

Reding. Confederates ! Have all gentler means been tried ? 
Perchance the Emp'ror knows not of our wrongs ; 
It may not be his will that thus we suffer : 
Were it not well to make one last attempt, 
And lay our grievances before the throne, 
Ere we unsheath the sword? Force is at best 
A fearful thing een in a righteous cause ; 
God only helps, when man can help no more. 

STATJFF. (tO KONRAD HuNN). 

Here you can give us information. Speak ! 
Hunn. I was at Rheinfeld, at the Emperor's palace, 
Deputed by the Cantons to complain 
Of the oppressions of these governors, 
And claim the charter of our ancient freedom, 
Which each new king till now has ratified. 
I found the envoys there of many a town, 
From Suabia and the valley of the Rhine, 
Who all received their parchments as they wish'd, 
And straight went home again with merry heart. 
They sent for me, your envoy, to the council, 
Where I was soon dismiss 'd with empty comfort ; 
" The Emperor at present was engaged; 
Some other time he would attend to us !" 
I turn'd away, and passing through the hall, 
With heavy heart, in a recess I saw 



492 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IX, 

The Grand Duke John * in tears, and by his side 

The noble lords of Wart and Tegerfeld, 

Who beckon'd me, and said, " Redress yourselves. 

Expect not justice from the Emperor. 

Does he not plunder his own brother's child. 

And keep from him his just inheritance ? 

The Duke claims his maternal property, 

Urging he's now of age, and 'tis full time 

That he should rule his people and dominions J 

What is the answer made to him ? The king 

Places a chaplet on his head; " Behold 

The fitting ornament," he cries, " of youth !" 

Mauer. You hear. Expect riot from the Emperor 

Or right or justice ! Then redress yourselves ! 

Reding. No other course is left us. Now, advise 
What plan most likely to ensure success. 

Furst. To shake a thraldom off that we abhor, 
To keep our ancient rights inviolate, 
As we received them from our fathers, — this, 
Not lawless innovation, is our aim. 
Let Caesar still retain what is his due ; 
And he that is a vassal, let him pay 
The service he is sworn to faithfully. 

Meyer. I hold my land of Austria in fief. 

Furst. Continue, then, to pay your feudal service. 

Weil. I'm tenant of the lords of Rappers weil. 

Furst. Continue, then, to pay them rent and tithe. 

Rossel. Of Zurich's Lady I'm the humble vassal. 

Furst. Give to the cloister, what the cloister claims. 

Stauff. The Empire only is my feudal lord. 

Furst. What needs must be, we'll do, but nothing further 
We'll drive these tyrants and their minions hence, 
And raze their towering strongholds to the ground, 
Yet shed, if possible, no drop of blood. 
Let the Emperor see, that we were driven to cast 
The sacred duties of respect away ; 
And when he finds we keep within our bounds, 
His wrath, belike, may yield to policy ; 

* The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterwards assassinated his uncle, foi 
withholding his patrimony from him. 



SC. II.] WILHELM TELL. 493 

For truly is that nation to be fear'd, 

That, when in arms, is ternp'rate in its wrath. 

Reding. But prithee tell us how may this be done ? 
The enemy is arm'd as well as we, . 
And, rest assured, he will not yield in peace. 

Stauff. He will, whene'er he sees us up in arms ; 
We shall surprise him, ere he is prepared. 

Meyee. 'Tis easily said, but not so easily done. 

Two fortresses of strength command the country — 
They shield the foe, and should the King invade us, 
The task would then be dangerous indeed. 
Rossberg and Sarnen both must be secured, 
Before a sword is drawn in either Canton. 

Stauff. Should we delay the foe will soon be warned ; 
We are too numerous for secrecy. 

Meyek. There is no traitor in the Forest States. 

Rossel. But even zeal may heedlessly betray. 

Fukst. Delay it longer, and the keep at Altdorf 
Will be complete, — the governor secure. 

Meyer. You think but of yourselves. 

Sacristan. You are unjust ! 

Meyer. Unjust ! said you ? Dares Uri taunt us so ? 

Reding. Peace, on your oath ! 

Meyer. If Schwytz be leagued with Uri, 

Why, then, indeed, we must perforce be silent. 

Reding. And let me tell you, in the Diet's name, 
Your hasty spirit much disturbs the peace. 
Stand we not all for the same common cause ? 

Wink. What, if we delay till Christmas ? 'Tis then 
The custom for the serfs to throng the castle, 
Bringing the governor their annual gifts. 
Thus may some ten or twelve selected men 
Assemble unobserved, within its walls, 
Bearing about their persons pikes of steel, 
Which may be quickly mounted upon staves, 
For arms are not admitted to the fort. 
The rest can fill the neighb'ring wood, prepared 
To sally forth upon a trumpet's blast, 
Whene'er their comrades have secured the gate ; 
And thus the castle will be ours with ease 

Melch. The Rossberg I will undertake to scale, 



±94 WILHELM TELL. [ACT II. 

I have a sweetheart in the garrison, 

Whom with some tender words I could persuade 

To lower me at night a hempen ladder. 

Once up, my friends will not be long behind. 

Reding Are all resolved in favour of delay ? 

[The majority raise their hands 

Stauff. (counting them). 

Twenty to twelve is the majority. 

Furst. If on the appointed day the castles fall, 

From mountain on to mountain we shall pass 

The fiery signal : in the capital 

Of every Canton quickly rouse the Landsturm*. 

Then, when these tyrants see our martial front, 

Believe me, they will never make so bold 

As risk the conflict, but will gladly take 

Safe conduct forth beyond our boundaries. 

Stauff. Not so with Gessler. He will make a stand. 
Surrounded with his dread array of horse, 
Blood will be shed before he quits the field, 
And even expell'd he'd still be terrible. 
'Tis hard, indeed 'tis dangerous, to spare him. 

Baum. Place me where'er a life is to be lost ; 
I owe my life to Tell, and cheerfully 
Will pledge it for my country. I have clear'd 
My honour, and my heart is now at rest. 

Reding. Counsel will come with circumstance. Be patient ! 
Something must still be trusted to the moment. 
Yet, while by night we hold our Diet here, 
The morning, see, has on the mountain tops 
Kindled her glowing beacon Let us part, 
Ere the broad sun surprise us. 

Furst. Do not fear. 

The night wanes slowly from these vales of ours. 
[AM have involuntarily taken off their caps, and 
contemplate the breaking of day, absorbed in 
silence. 

Rossel. By this fair light which greeteth us, before 
Those other nations, that, beneath us far, 
In noisome cities pent, draw painful breath, 

* A sort of national militia, 



ACT III!.] WILHELM TELL. 495 

Swear ve the oath of our confederacy ! 
We swear to be a nation of true brothers, 
Never to part in danger or in death ! 

[They repeat his words with three fingers raised. 
We swear we will be free, as were our sires, 
And sooner die than live in slavery ! 

[All repeat as before. 
We swear to put our trust in God Most High, 
And not to quail before the might of man ! 

[All repeat as before, and embrace each other. 
Stauff Now every man pursue his several way 

Back to his friends, his kindred, and his home. 
Let the herd winter up his flock, and gain, 
In silence, friends for our confederacy ! 
What for a time must be endured, endure, 
And let the reckoning of the tyrants grow, 
Till the great day arrive, when they shall pay 
The general and particular debt at once. 
Let every man control his own just rage, 
And nurse his vengeance for the public wrongs : 
For he whom selfish interests now engage, 
Defrauds the general weal of what to it belongs. 
[As they are going off in profound silence, in 
three different directions, the orchestra plays a 
solemn air. The empty scene remains open for 
some time, showing the rays of the sun rising 
over the Glaciers. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. 

Couri before Tell's house. Tell with an axe. Hedwig 
engaged in her domestic duties. Walteb and Wilhelm iv 
the back-ground, playing with a little cross-bow 

(Walter sings). 
With his cross-bow, and his quiver, 

The huntsman speeds his way, 
Over mountain, dale, and river, 

At the dawning of the day, 



496 



W1LHELM TEIX. 



TAnr irr. 



Tell. 

Hedw. 

Tell. 

Hedw. 

Tell. 



As the eagle, on wild pinion, 

Is the king in realms of air, 
So the hunter claims dominion 

Over crag and forest lair, 

Far as ever bow can carry, 

Thro' the trackless airy space, 
All he sees he makes his quarry, 

Soaring bird and beast of chase. 

Wilhelm (runs forward). 

My string has snapt ! Wilt mend it for me ; father ? 
Not I ; a true-born archer helps himself. [Boys retire. 
The boys begin to use the bow betimes. 
'Tis early practice only makes the master. 
Ah ! Would to Heaven they never learnt the art ! 
But they shall leam it, wife, in all its points. 
Whoe'er would carve an independent way 
Through life, must learn to ward or plant a blow. 

Hedw. Alas, alas ! and they will never rest 
Contentedly at home. 

Tjkll. No more can I ! 

I was not framed by nature for a shepherd. 
Restless I must pursue a changing course; 
I only feel the flush and joy of life, 
In starting some fresh quarry every day 

Hedw. Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms, 

As she sits watching through long hours at home. 
For my soul sinks with terror at the tales 
The servants tell about your wild adventures. 
Whene'er we part, my trembling heart forebodes, 
That you will ne'er come back to me again. 
I see you on the frozen mountain steeps, 
Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff. 
I see the chamois, with a wild rebound, 
Drag you down with him o'er the precipice. 
I see the avalanche close o'er your head, — 
The treacherous ice give way, and you sink dow^ 
Intombed alive within its hideous gulf. 
Ah ! in a hundred varying forms does death 
Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course, 
l^hat way of life can surely ne'er be blessed, 
Where life and limb are perlll'd every hor , ~ 



eo. i.l 



WILHELM TELL. 



49'. 



Tell. The man that bears a quick and steady eye, 
And trusts to God, and his own lusty sinews, 
Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger. 
The mountain cannot awe the mountain child. 

[Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools 
And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile. — 
The axe at home oft saves the carpenter. 

[Takes his cap 
Hedw. Whither away? 

Tell. To Altdorf, to your father. 

Hedw. You have some dangerous enterprise in view ? 

Confess ! 
Tell. Why think you so ? 

Hedwigl Some scheme's on foot. 

Against the governors. There was a Diet 
Held on the Rootli — that I know — and you 
Are one of the confederacy, I'm sure. 
Tell. I was not there. Yet will I not hold back, 

Whene'er my country calls me to her aid. 
Hedw. Wherever danger is, will you be placed. 

On you, as ever, will the burden fall. 
Tell. Each man shall have the post that fits his powers 
Hedw. You took — ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm — 
The man of Unterwald across the lake. 
'Tis a marvel you escaped. Had you no thought 
Of wife and children, then ? 
Tell. Dear wife, I had ; 

And therefore saved the father for his children. 
Hedw. To brave the lake in all its wrath ! 'Twas not 

To put your trust in God ! 'Twas tempting him. 
Tell. The man that's over cautious will do little. 
Hedw. Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all ; 
But be in straits, and who will lend you aid? 
Tell. God grant I ne'er may stand in need of it ! 

[Takes up his crossbow and arrows 
Hedw Why take your crossbow with you ? Leave it here 
Tell. I want my right hand, when I want my bow. 

[The boys return 
Walt. Where, father, are you going? 
Tell. To grand-dad, boy— 

To Aitdorf. Will you go ? 

K K 



*«J8 WILHELM TELL. r ACT III 

Walter. Ay, that I will ! 

Hedw. The Viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf ! 

Tell. He leaves to-day. 

Hedwig. Then let him first be gone. 

Cross not his path. — You know he bears us grudge. 

Tell. His ill-will cannot greatly injure me. 

I do what's right, and care for no man's hate. 

Hedw. 'Tis those who do what's right, whom most he hates. 

Tell. Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween, 
His knightship will be glad to leave in peace. 

Hedw. Ay ! — Are you sure of that ? 

Tell. Not long ago, 

As I was hunting through the wild ravines 
Of Shechenthal, untrod by mortal foot, ■•• 
There, as I took my solitary way 
Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas 
Impossible to step on either side ; 
For high above rose, like a giant wall, 
The precipice's side, and far below 
The Shechen thunder 'd o'er its rifted bed ; — 

[The boys press towards him, looking upon him 
with excited curiosity. 
There, face to face, I met the Viceroy. He 
Alone with me — and 1 myself alone — 
Mere man to man, and near us the abyss. 
And when his lordship had perused my face, 
And knew the man he had severely fined 
On some most trivial ground, not long before ; 
And saw me, with my sturdy bsw in hand, 
Come striding t 'wards him, then his cheek grew pair 
His knees refused their office, and I thought 
He would have sunk against the mountain side. 
Then, touch' d with pity for him, I advanced, 
Respectfully, and said, " 'Tis I, my lord." 
But ne'er a sound could he compel his lips 
To frame in answer. Only with his hand 
He beckoned me in silence to proceed. 
So I pass'd on, and sent his train to seek him. 

Hedw. He trembled then before you ? Woe the while 
You saw his weakness ; that he'll ne'er forgive. 

Tell. I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me. 



50. n.] WILHELM TELL. 499 

Hedw. But stay away to-day. Go hunting rather ! 
Tell. What do you fear ? 
Hedwig I am uneasy. Stay 

Tell. Why thus distress yourself without a cause ? 
Hedw. Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell ! stay here ! 
Tell. Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go. 
Hedw. Must you, — then go. But leave the hoys with me. 
Walt. No, mother dear, I'm going with my father. 
Hedw. How, Walter ! will you leave your mother then? 
Walt. I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa. 

[Exit with his father. 
Wilh. Mother, I'll stay with you ! 
Hedwig (embracing him). Yes, yes ! thou art 

My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me 
[She goes to the gate of the court, and looks 
anxiously after Tell and her son for a con- 
siderable time. 

Scene II. 

A retired part of the Forest. — Brooks dashing in spray over 
the rocks. 

Enter Bebtha in a hunting dress. Immediately afterwards 

Rudenz. 

Bekth. He follows me. Now to explain myself! 

Eudenz (entering hastily). 

At length, dear lady, we have met alone. 
In this wild dell, with rocks on every side, 
No jealous eye can watch our interview. 
Now let my heart throw off this weary silence. 

Berth. But are you sure they will not follow us ? 

Eud. . . See, yonder goes the chase. Now, then, or never ! 
I must avail me of the precious moment, — 
Must hear my doom decided by thy lips, 
Though it should part me from thy side for ever. 
Oh, do not arm that gentle face of thine 
With looks so stern and harsh ! Who — who am I, 
That dare aspire so high, as unto thee ? 
Fame hath not stamp 'd me yet ; nor may I take 

K s 2 



500 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IH. 

My place amid the courtly throng of knights, 
That, crown'd with glory's lustre, woo thy smiles. 
Nothing have I to offer, but a heart 
That overflows with truth and love for thee. 

Bertha (sternly and with severity). 

And dare you speak to me of love — of truth? 
You, that are faithless to your nearest ties ! 
You, that are Austria's slave — bartered and sold 
To her — an alien, and your country's tyrant ! 

Bud. . . How ! This reproach from thee ! Whom do I seek, 
On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee ? 

Berth. Think you to find me in the traitor's ranks ? 
Now, as I live, I'd rather give my hand 
To Gessler's self, all despot though he be, 
Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth, 
And stoops to be the minion of a tyrant. 

Bud. . . Oh heaven, what must I hear ! 

Bertha. Say ! what can lie 

Nearer the good man's heart, than friends and 

kindred ? 
What dearer duty to a noble soul, 
Than to protect weak, suffering innocence, 
And vindicate the rights of the oppress'd ? 
My very soul bleeds for your countrymen. 
I suffer with them, for I needs must love them ; 
They are so gentle, yet so full of power ; 
They draw my whole heart to them. Every day 
I look upon them with increased esteem. 
But you, whom nature and your knightly vow, 
Have given them as their natural protector, 
Yet who desert them and abet their foes, 
In forging shackles for your native land, 
You — you it is, that deeply grieve and wound me. 
I must constrain my heart, or I shall hate you. 

Bud. . . Is not my country's welfare all my wish ? 
What seek I for her, but to purchase peace 
'Neath Austria's potent sceptre ? 

Bertha. Bondage, rather ! 

You would drive freedom from the last stronghold 
That yet remains for her upon the ea*th. 



k *C. II. ] WILHELM TELL 501 

The people know their own true int'rests better: 
Their simple natures are not warp'd by show. 
But round your head a tangling net is wound. 

Rud. . . Bertha, you hate me — you despise me ! 

Bertha. Nay! 

And if I did, 'twere better for my peace. 
But to see him despised and despicable, — 
The man whom one might love — 

Rudenz. Oh, Bertha ! You 

Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss, 
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair ! 

Berth. No, no ! the noble is not all extinct 

Within you. It but slumbers, — I will rouse it 
It- must have cost you many a fiery struggle, 
To crush the virtues of your race within you. 
But, Heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself, 
And you are noble in your own despite ! 

Rud. . . You trust me, then ? Oh, Bertha, with thy love 
What might I not become ! 

Bertha. Be only that 

For which your own high nature destin'd you. 
Fill the position you were born to fill ; — 
Stand by your people and your native land — 
And battle for your sacred rights ! 

Rudenz. Alas ! 

How can I hope to win you — to possess you, 
If I take arms against the Emperor ? 
Will not your potent kinsmen interpose, 
To dictate the disposal of your hand ? 

Berth All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons ; 
And I am free, when Switzerland is free. 

Rud. . . Oh ! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me ! 

Berth Hope not to win my hand by Austria's favour; 
Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates, 
To swell the vast domains which now they hold. 
The selfsame lust of conquest, that would rob 
You of your liberty, endangers mine. 
Oh, friend, I'm mark'd for sacrifice ; — to be 
The guerdon of some parasite, perchance I 
They'll drag me hence to the Imperial court, 
That hateful haunt of falsehood and intrigue ; 



502 WILHELM TELL. [AGT TH 

There do detested marriage bonds await me. 
Love, love alone, — your love can rescue me. 
Rud. . . And thou couldst be content, love, to live here ; 
In my own native land to be my own ? 
Oh, Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul 
For this great world and its tumultuous strife, 
What were they, but a yearning after thee ? 
In glory's path I sought for thee alone, 
And all my thirst of fame was only love. 
But if in this calm vale thou canst abide 
With me, and bid earth's pomps and pride adieu, 
Then is the goal of my ambition won ; 
And the rough tide of the tempestuous world 
May dash and rave around these firm-set hills ! 
No wandering wishes more have I to send 
Forth to the busy scene that stirs beyond. 
Then may these rocks, that girdle us, extend 
Their giant walls impenetrably round, 
And this sequestered happy vale alone 
Look up to heaven, and be my paradise ! 
Beeth. Now art thou all my fancy dream'd of thee. 
My trust has not been given to thee in vain 
Rud. . Away, ye idle phantoms of my folly ! 

In mine own home I'll find my happiness. 
Here, where the gladsome boy to manhood grew, 
Where ev'ry brook, and tree, and mountain peak, 
Teems with remembrances of happy hours, 
In mine own native land thou wilt be mine. 
Ah, I have ever loved it well, I feel 
How poor without it were all earthly joys. 
Berth. Where should we look for happiness on earth, 
If not in this dear land of innocence ? 
Here, where old truth hath its familiar home, 
Where fraud and guile are strangers, envy ne'er 
Shall dim the sparkling fountain of our bliss, 
And ever bright the hours shall o'er us glide. 
There do I see thee, in true manly worth, 
The foremost of the free and of thy peers, 
Revered with homage pure and unconstrained, 
Wielding a power that kings might envy thee. 
Rud . , And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem, 



PC. Til.] WILHELM TELL. 503 

With thy sweet woman grace and wakeful love, 
Building a heaven for me within my home, 
And, as the spring-time scatters forth her flowers, 
Adorning with thy charms my path of life, 
And spreading joy and sunshine all around. 

Berth. And this it was, dear friend, that caused my grief, 
To see thee blast this life's supremest bliss, 
With thine own hand. Ah ! what had been my fate. 
Had I been forced to follow some proud lord, 
Some ruthless despot, to his gloomy castle ! 
Here are no castles, here no bastion'd walls 
Divide me from a people I can bless. 

Rud. . . Yet, how to free myself ; to loose the coils 

Which I have madly twined around my head ? 

Beeth. Tear them asunder with a man's resolve. 
Whatever the event, stand by thy people. 
. It is thy post by birth. 

[Hunting horns are heard in the distance. 
But hark !• The chase ! 
Farewell, — 'tis needful we should part — away ! 
Fight for thy land ; thou tightest for thy love. 
One foe fills all our souls with dread ; the blow 
That makes one free, emancipates us all. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene III. 

A meadow near Altdorf. Trees in the fore-ground. At the 
back of the stage a cap upon a pole. The prospect is 
bounded by the Banriberg, which is surmounted by a snow- 
capped mountain. 

Friesshardt and Leuthold on guard. 
Friess. We keep our watch in vain. There's not a soul 

Will pass, and do obeisance to the cap. 

But yesterday the place swarm'd like a fair ; 

Now the whole green looks like a very desert, 

Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole. 
Leuth. Only the vilest rabble show themselves, 

And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us. 

All honest citizens would sooner make 

A tedious circuit over half the town, 



504 WILHELM TELL. [kOT HZ. 

Than bend their backs before our master's cap. 

Frjess. They were obliged to pass this way at noon, 

As they were coming from the Council House. 
I counted then upon a famous catch, 
For no one thought of bowing to the cap. 
But Eosselmann, the priest, was even with me : 
Coming just then from some sick penitent, 
He stands before the pole, — raises the Host — 
The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell, — 
When down they dropp'd on knee — myself and all 
In reverence to the Host, but not the cap. 

Leuth. Hark ye, companion, I've a shrewd suspicion, 
Our post's no better than the pillory. 
It is a burning shame, a trooper should 
Stand sentinel before an empty cap, 
And every honest fellow must despise us 
To do obeisance to a cap, too ! Faith, 
I never heard an order so absurd ! 

Feiess. Why not, an't please thee, to an empty cap ? 

Thou'st duck'd, Im sure, to many an empty sconce. 
[Hildegard, Mechthild, and Elsbeth enter 
with their children, and station themselves 
around the pole. 

Leuth. And thou art an officious sneaking knave, 

That's fond of bringing honest folks to trouble. 
For my part, he that likes, may pass the cap : — 
I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him. 

Mech. There hangs the Viceroy ! Your obeisance, children \ 

Els. . . I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap ! 
The country would be none the worse for it. 

Friesshardt (driving them away). 

Out of the way ! Confounded pack of gossips ! 
Who sent for you ? Go, send your husbands here, 
If they have courage to defy the order. 

[Tell enters with his crossbow, leading his son 
Walter by the hand. They pass the hat with- 
out noticing it, and advance to the front of the 
stage. 

Walter (pointing to the Bannberg). 

Father, is't true, that on the mountain there, 
The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed ? 



fid. Ill, J WILHELM TELL 



505 



Tell. Who says so, boy ? 

Walteb. The master herdsman, father ! 

He tells us, there's a charm upon the trees, 
And if a man shall injure them, the hand 
That struck the blow will grow from out the grave. 

Tell There is a charm about them — that's the truth. 

Dost see those glaciers yonder — those white horns— 
That seem to melt away into the sky ? 

Walt They are the peaks that thunder so at night, 
And send the avalanches down upon us 

Tell. They are ; and Altdorf long ago had been 

Submerged beneath these avalanches' weight, 
Did not the forest there above the town 
Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall. 

Walter (after musing a little). 

And are there countries with no mountains, father? 

Tell. Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights, 
And keep descending in the rivers' courses, 
We reach a wide and level country, where 
Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more, 
And fair large rivers glide serenely on. 
All quarters of the heaven may there be scann'd 
Without impediment. The corn grows there 
In broad and lovely fields, and all the land 
Is fair as any garden to the view. 

Walt But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not 
Away to this delightful land, instead 
Of toiling here, and struggling as we do ? 

Tell. The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven ; 
But they who till it, never may enjoy 
The fruits of what they sow. 

Walter. Live they not free, 

As you do, on the land their fathers left them? 

Tell. The fields are all the bishop's or the king's. 

Walt. But they may freely hunt among the woods ? 

Tell. The game is all the monarch's — bird and beast. 

Walt. But they, at least, may surely fish the streams ? 

Tell. Stream, lake, and sea, all to the king belong. 

Walt. Who is this king, of whom they're so afraid ? 

Tell. He is the man who fosters and protects them. 



506 WILHELM TELL. JACT III. 

Have they not courage to protect themselves ? 
Tell. The neighbour there dare not his neighbour trust. 
Walt. I should want breathing room in such a land. 

I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanches. 
Tell. 'Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks 

Behind one's back, than evil-minded men ! 

[They are about to pass on. 
Walt. See, father, see the cap on yonder pole ! 
Tell. What is the cap to us ? Come, let's begone 

[As he is going, Friesshardt, presenting his pike, 
stops him. 
Friess. Stand, I command you, in the Emperor's name ! 
Tell (seizing the pike). 

What would ye ? Wherefore do ye stop my path ? 
Friess. You've broke the mandate, and must go with us. 
Leuth. You have not done obeisance to the cap. 
Tell. Friend, let me go. 

Friess. Away, away to prison ! 

Walt. Father to prison Help ! 

[Calling to the side scene. 
This way, you men ! 

Good people, help ! They're dragging him to prison' 
[Rosselmann the Priest, and the Sacristan, with 
three other men, enter. 
Sacris. What's here amiss ? 

Ross. Why do you seize this man? 

Friess. He is an enemy of the King — a traitor. 
Tell (seizing him with violence). 

A traitor, I ! 
Rosselmann. Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell, 

An honest man, and worthy citizen. 
Walter (descries Furst and runs up to him). 

Grandfather, help, they want to seize my father ! 
Friess. Away to prison ! 
Furst (running in). Stay, I offer bail. 

For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here ? 

[Melchthal and Stauffacher enter 
Leuth. He has contemn'd the Viceroy's sovereign power 

Refusing flatly to acknowledge it 
Stauff Has Tell done this ? 



SO. III.j WILHELM TELL. bOl 

Melchthal. Villain, thou knowest 'tis falsel 

Leuth. He has not made obeisance to the cap. 

Fuest. And shall for this to prison ? Come, my friend, 

Take my security, and let him go. 
Fbiess. Keep your security for yourself — you'll need it. 

We only do our duty. Hence with him. 
Melchthal (to the country people). 

This is too bad— shall we stand by, and see them 
Drag him away before our very eyes ? 
Sacbis. We are the strongest. Don't endure it, friends. 

Our countrymen will back us to a man. 
Friess Who dares resist the governor's commands ? 
Other Three Peasants (running in). 

We'll help you. What's the matter ? Down with 
them ! 

[Hildegard, Mechthild and Elsbeth return. 
Tell. Go, go, good people, I can help myself. 

Think you, had I a mind to use my strength, 
These pikes of theirs should daunt me ? 
Melchthal (to Friesshardt). Only try- 

Try, if you dare, to force him from amongst us. 
Furst and Stauffacher. 

Peace, peace, friends ! 
Friesshardt (loudly). Eiot ! Insurrection, ho ! 

[Hunting horns without 
Women. The Governor ! 

Friesshardt (raising his voice). Eebellion ! Mutiny ! 
Stauff. Eoar, till you burst, knave ! 

Eosselmann and Melchthal. Will you hold your tongue ? 
Friesshardt (calling still louder). 

Help, help, I say, the servants of the law! 
Furst. The Viceroy here ! Then we shall smart for this ! 

[Enter Gessler on horseback, with a falcon 0*1 
his wrist ; Eudolph der Harras, Bertha, and 
Eudenz, and a numerous train of armed at- 
tendants, who form a circle of lances round the 
whole stage. 
Har. . Eoom for the Viceroy ! 
Gessleb. Drive the clowns apart. 

Why throng the people thus ? Who calls for help ? 

[General silence, 



50 S WILHELM TELL. [ACT IH. 

"Who was it? I will know. 

[Friesshardt steps forward. 
And who art thou ? 
And why hast thou this man in custody ? 

[Gives his falcon to an attendant 

Friess. Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard, 
And station'd sentinel beside the cap ; 
This man I apprehended in the act 
Of passing it without obeisance due, 
So I arrested him, as you gave order 
Whereon the people tried to rescue him. 

Gessler [after a pause). 

And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your king, 
And me, who act as his vicegerent here, 
That you refuse the greeting to the cap 
I hung aloft to test your loyalty? 
I read in this a disaffected spirit. 

Tell. Pardon me, good my lord ! The action sprung 
From inadvertence, — not from disrespect. 
Were I discreet, I were not William Tell : 
Forgive me now — I'll not offend again. 

Gessler (after a pause). 

I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow, — 
And bear the palm away from every rival. 

Walt. That must be true, sir ! At a hundred yards 
He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree. 

Gessl. Is that boy thine, Tell ? 

Tell. Yes, my gracious lord 

Gessl. Hast any more of them ? 

Tell. Two boys, my lord. 

Gessl And, of the two, which dost thou love the most ? 

Tell. Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike. 

Gessl Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst 
Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt 
Approve thy skill before me. Take thy bow — 
Thou hast it there at hand— and make thee ready 
To shoot an apple from the stripling's head ! 
But take this counsel, — look well to thine aim, 
See, that thou hitt'st the apple at the first, 
For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit 

[All give signs of liorror 



BB HI, WILHELM TELL. 509 

Tell. What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask ? 

That I, from the head of mine own child ! — No, no ! 
It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that — 
God, in His grace, forbid ! You could not ask 
A father seriously to do that thing ! 

Gessl. Thou art to shoot an apple from his head ! 
I do desire — command it so. 

Tell. What I ! 

Level my crossbow at the darling head 
Of mine own child ? No — rather let me die ! 

Gessl. Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy. 

Tell. Shall I become the murd'rer of my child ! 
You have no children, sir — you do not know 
The tender throbbings of a father's heart. 

Gessl. How now, Tell, so discreet upon a sudden 
I had been told thou wert a visionary, — 
A wanderer from the paths of common men. 
Thou lov'st the marvellous. So have I now 
Cull'd out for thee a task of special daring. 
Another man might pause and hesitate ; — 
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once. 

Berth. Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls ! 
See, how they tremble, and how pale they look, 
So little used are they to hear thee jest. 

Gessl. Who tells thee, that I jest? 

[Grasping a branch above his head. 
Here is the apple. 
Koom there, 1 say ! And let him take his distance — 
Just eighty paces, — as the custom is, — 
Not an inch more or less ! It was his boast, 
That at a hundred he could hit his man. 
Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not ! 

Iar. . Heavens ! this grows serious— down, boy, on your 
knees, 
And beg the governor to spare your life. 

Furst (aside to Melchthal, who can scarcely restrain his 
impatience). 
Command yourself, — be calm, I beg of you ! 

Bertha (to the governor). 

Let this suffice you, sir ! It is inhuman 



WILHELM TELL. 



[act in. 



To trifle with a father s anguish thus. 
Although this wretched man had forfeited 
Both life and limb for such a slight offence, 
Already has he suffer 'd tenfold death. 
Send him away uninjured to his home ; 
He'll know thee well in future ; and this hour 
He and his children's children will remember. 

Gessl. Open a way there — quick ! Why this delay ? 
Thy life is forfeited ; I might despatch thee, 
And see I graciously repose thy fate 
Upon the skill of thine own practis'd hand. 
No cause has he to say his doom is harsh, 
"Who's made the master of his destiny. 
Thou boastest of thy steady eye. 'Tis well ! 
Now is a fitting time to show thy skill. 
The mark is worthy, and the prize is great. 
To hit the bull's eye in the target ; — that 
Can many another do as well as thou ; 
But he, methinks, is master of his craft, 
Who can at all times on his skill rely, 
Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand 

1 urst My lord, we bow to your authority ; 

But oh, let justice yield to mercy here. 
Take half my property, nay, take it all, 
But spare a father this unnatural doom ! 

Walt. Grandfather, do not kneel to that bad man ! 
Say, where am I to stand ? I do not fear ; 
My father strikes the bird upon the wing, 
And will not miss now when 'twould harm his boy 1 

Stauff. Does the child's innocence not touch your heart ? 

Rossel. Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven, 

To whom you must account for all your deeds. 

Gessler {pointing to the boy). 

Bind him to yonder lime tree straight ! 

Walter. Bind me ? 

No, I will not be bound ! I will be still, 
Still as a lamb — nor even draw my breath ! 
But if you bind me, I can not be still. 
Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds - 

Uab. . . But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy ! 



SC. ni.j WILHELM TELL. 511 

Walt. And why my eyes ? No ! Do you think I fear 

An arrow from my father's hand ? Not I ! 

Ill wait it firmly, nor so much as wink ! 

Quick, father, show them that thou art an archer I 

He doubts thy skill — he thinks to ruin us. 

Shoot then, and hit, though but to spite the tyrant ! 
[He goes to the lime tree, and an apple is placed 
on his head. 
Melchthal (to the country people). 

What ! Is this outrage to be perpetrated 

Before our very eyes ? Where is our oath ? 
Stauff. Tis all in vain. We have n'o weapons here ; 

And see the wood of lances that surrounds us ! 
Melch. Oh ! would to Heaven that we had struck at once ! 

God pardon those, who counsell'd the delay ! 
Gessler (to Tell). 

Now, to thy task ! Men bear not arms for nought 

'Tis dangerous to carry deadly weapons, 

And on the archer oft his shaft recoils. 

This right, these haughty peasant churls assume. 

Trenches upon their master's privileges. 

None should be armed, but those who bear command. 

It pleases you to wear the bow and bolt ; — 

Well, — be it so. I will provide the mark. 
Tell (bends the bow, and fixes the arrow). 

A lane there ! Room ! 
Stauffacher What, Tell ? You would — no, no ! 

You shake — your hand's unsteady — your knees tremble. 
Tell (letting the bow sink down). 

There's something swims before mine eyes ! 
Women. Great Heaven ! 

Tell. Release me from this shot ! Here is my heart ! 

[Tears open his breast 

Summon your troopers — let them strike me down! 
Gessl I do not want thy life, Tell, but the shot. 

Thy talent's universal ! Nothing daunts thee ! 

Thou canst direct the rudder like the bow ! 

Storms fright not thee, when there's a life at stake . 

Now, saviour, help thyself, — thou savest all ! 

[Tell stands fearfully agitated by contending 



512 WTLHELM TELL. [ACT Hi 

emotions, his hands moving convulsively, and 
his eyes turning alternately to the governor and 
Heaven, Suddenly he takes a second arrow 
from his quiver, and sticks it in his belt. The 
governor watches all these motions. 
Walteb (beneath the lime tree). 

Come, father, shoot ! I'm not afraid ! 
Tell It must be ! 

[Collects himself and levels the bow. 
Rudenz (who all the while has been standing in a state of 
violent excitement, and has with difficulty restrained 
himself, advances). 
My lord, you will not urge this matter further. 
You will not. It was surely but a test. 
You've gained your object. Eigour push'd too far 
Is sure to miss its aim, however good, 
As snaps the bow that's all too straitly bent. 
Gessl. Peace, till your counsel's ask'd for] 
Rudenz. I will speak ! 

Ay, and I dare ! I reverence my king ; 
But acts like these must make his name abhorr'd. 
He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare 
Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers 
In handling thus an unoffending people. 
Gessl. Ha ! thou grow'st bold, methinks ! 
Rudenz. I have been dumb 

To all the oppressions I was doom'd to see. 
I've closed mine eyes, that they might not behold 

them, 
Bade my rebellious, swelling heart be still, 
And pent its struggles down within my breast. 
But to be silent longer, were to be 
A traitor to my king and country both. 
Bektha {casting herself between him and the governor]. 

Oh Heavens ! you but exasperate his rage ! 
Rud. . . My people I forsook — renounced my kindred- 
Broke all the ties of nature, that I might 
Attach myself to you. I madly thought, 
That I should best advance the general weal, 



SO. 111".] WILHELM TELL. 513 

By adding sinews to the Emperors power. 
The scales have fallen from mine eyes — I see 
The fearful precipice on which I stand. 
You've led my youthful judgment far astray,— 
Deceived my honest heart. With best intent. 
T had well nigh achiev'd my country's ruin. 
Gessl Audacious boy, this language to thy lord ? 
Rud. . The Emperor is my lord, not you ! I'm free 
As you by birth, and I can cope with you 
In every virtue that beseems a knight. 
And if you stood not here in that King's name 
Which I respect e'en where 'tis most abused, 
I'd throw my gauntlet down, and you should givb 
An answer to my gage in knightly fashion. 
Ay, beckon to your troopers ! Here I stand ; 
But not like these {Pointing to the people. 

— unarmed. I have a sword, 

And he that stirs one step 

Stauffacher {exclaims). The apple's down ! 

[While the attention of the crowd has been directed 
to the spot where Bertha had cast herself be- 
tween Rudenz and Gessler, Tell has shot. 
Rossel. The boy's alive ! 
Many voices. The apple has been struck ! 

[Walter Furst staggers, and is about to fall 
Bertha supports him. 
Gessler (astonished). 

How ? Has he shot ? The madman ! 
Bertha. Worthy father J 

Pray you, compose yourself. The boy's alive, 
Walter (runs in ivith the apple). 

Here is the apple, father ! Well I knew, 
You would not harm your boy. 

[Tell stands with his body bent forwards, as 
though he would follow the arrow. His bow 
drops from his hand. When he sees the boy 
advancing, he hastens to meet him with open 
arms, and embracing him passionately sinks 
down with him quite exhausted All crowd 
round them deeply affected. 
Bertha. Oh, ye kind Heavens ! 

L L 



5 1 i WILHELM TELL. 



ACT III 



Furst [to father and son). My children, my dear children ! 
Stauffacher. God he praised ! 

Leuth. Almighty powers ! That was a shot indeed ! 

It will he talked of to the end of time. 
Har. . . This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told 

While yonder mountains stand upon their base. 

[Hands the apple to Gessler. 
Gessl. By Heaven ! the apple's cleft right through the core. 

It was a master shot, I must allow. 
Rossel. The shot was good. But woe to him, who drove 

The man to tempt his God by such a feat ! 
Stauff. Cheer up, Tell, rise ! You've nobly freed yourself, 

And now may go in quiet to your home. 
Rossel. Come, to the mother let us bear her son ! 

[They are about to lead him off. 
Gessl. A word, Tell. 

Tell. Sir, your pleasure ? 

Gessler. Thou didst place 

A second arrow in thy belt — nay, nay ! 

I saw it well — what was thy purpose with it? 
Tell (confused). It is a custom with all archers, Sir. 
Gessl. No, Tell, I cannot let that answer pass. 

There was some other motive, well I know. 

Frankly and cheerfully confess the truth; — 

Whate'er it be, I promise thee thy life, 

Wherefore the second arrow ? 
Tell, Well, my lord, 

Since you have promised not to take my life, 

I will, without reserve, declare the truth. 

[He draws the arrow from his belt, and fixes his 
eyes sternly upon the governor. 

If that my hand had struck my darling child, 

This second arrow I had aimed at you, 

And, be assured, I should not then have miss'd. 
Gessl. Well, Tell, I promised thou shouldst have thy life ; 

I gave my knightly word, and I will keep it. 

Yet, as I know the malice of thy thoughts, 

I will remove thee hence to sure confinement, 

Where neither sun nor moon shall reach thine eyes 

Thus from thy arrows I shall be secure. 

Seize on him, guards, and bind him ! [They bind him. 



60 111.] WiLHELM TELL. 515 

Stauffacher. How, my lord — 

How can you treat in such a way a man, 

On whom God's hand has plainly been reveal'd 2 
Gessl. Well, let us see if it will save him twice ! 

Remove him to my ship ; I'll follow straight 

In person I will see him lodged at Kussnacht. 
Rossel. You dare not do't. Nor durst the Emperor's self 

So violate our dearest chartered rights. 
Gessl. Where are they? Has the Emp'ror confirm 'd them? 

He never has. And only by obedience 

Need you expect to win that favour from him. 

You are all rebels 'gainst the Emp'ror's power, — 

And bear a desperate and rebellious spirit. 

I know you all — I see you through and through. 

Him do I single from amongst you now, 

But in his guilt you all participate. 

The wise will study silence and obedience. 

[Exit, followed by Bertha, Rudenz, Harras, 
and attendants. Friesshardt and Leutholij 
remain. 
Furst (in violent anguish). 

All's over now ! He is resolved, to bring 

Destruction on myself and all my house. 
Stauff. (to Tell). Oh, why did you provoke the tyrant's rago ? 
Tell. Let him be calm who feels the pangs I felt. 
Stauff. Alas ! alas ! Our every hope is gone. 

With you we all are fettered and enchain 'd. 
Country People (surrounding Tell). 

Our last remaining comfort goes with youl 
Leuth. (approaching him). 

I'm sorry for you, Tell, but must obey 
Tell. Farewell! 
Walter Tell (clinging to him in great agony). 

Oh, father, father, my dear father ! 
Tell (pointing to Heaven). 

Thy father is on high — appeal to him ! 
Stauff. Hast thou no message, Tell, to send thy wife ? 
Tell, (clasping the boy passionately to his breast). 

The boy's uninjured ; God will succour me ! 

[Tears himself suddenly aivay, and follows the sol- 
diers of the guard 

L L 2 



516 W1LHELM TELL. [AC'£ ?V 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. 

Eastern shore of the Lake of Lucerne , rugged and singularly 
shaped rocks close the prospect to the west. The lake is agi 
tated, violent roaring and rushing of wind, with thunder and 
lightning at intervals. 

Kunz of Geesau, Fisherman and Boy. 

Kunz. I saw it with these eyes ! Believe me, friend, 
It happen'd all precisely as I've said. 

Fisher. Tell made a prisoner and borne off to Kiissnacht ? 
The best man in the land, the bravest arm, 
Had we resolved to strike for liberty ! 

Kunz. The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person : 
They were about to go on board, as I 
Left Fliielen ; but still the gathering storm, 
That drove me here to land so suddenly, 
Perchance has hindered their abrupt departure. 

Fisher. Our Tell in chains, and in the Viceroy's power ! 
0, trust me, Gessler will entomb him, where 
He never more shall see the light of day ; 
For, Tell once free, the tyrant well might dread 
The just revenge of one so deep incensed. 

Kunz. The old Landamman, too — von Attinghaus — 
They say, is lying at the point of death. 

Fisher. Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way ! 
He was the only man that dared to raise 
His voice in favour of the people's rights. 

Kunz. The storm grows worse and worse. So, fare ye well ! 
I'll go and seek out quarters in the village. 
There's not a chance of getting off to-day. [Exit. 

Fisher. Tell dragg'd to prison, and the Baron dead ! 
Now, tyranny, exalt thy insolent front, — 
Throw shame aside ! The voice of truth is silenced, 
The eye that watch'd for us, in darkness closed, 
The arm that should have struck thee down, in chains ! 

Boy. . . 'Tis hailing hard — come, let us to the cottage ! 
This is no weather to be out in, father ! 

Fisher. Rage on, ye winds ! Ye lightnings, flash your fires ! 
Burst, ye swollen clouds ! Ye cataracts of Heaven. 
Descend, and drown the country! In the germ, 



SC. I 1 WILHELM TELL. bVi 

Destroy the generations yet unborn ! 
Ye savage elements, be lords of all ! 
Return, ye bears ; ye ancient wolves, return 
To this wide howling waste ! The land is yours 
Who would live here, when liberty is gone ! 

Boy. . . Hark! How the wind whistles, and the whirlpool roars; 
I never saw a storm so fierce as this ! 

Fishee. To level at the head of his own child ! 
Never had father such command before. 
And shall not nature, rising in wild wrath, 
Revolt against the deed ? I should not marvel, 
Though to the lake these rocks should bow their heads, 
Though yonder pinnacles, yon towers of ice, 
That, since creation's dawn, have known no thaw, 
Should, from their lofty summits, melt away, — 
Though yonder mountains, yon primeval cliffs, 
Should topple down, and a new deluge whelm 
Beneath its waves all living men's abodes ! 

[Bells heard 

Boy . . Hark, they are ringing on the mountain, yonder ! 
They surely see some vessel in distress, 
And toll the bell that we may pray for it. 

[Ascends a rock 

Fishee. Woe to the bark that now pursues its course, 

Rock'd in the cradle of these storm-tost waves ! 
Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail ; 
The storm is master. Man is like a ball, 
Toss'd 'twixt the winds and billows. Far or near, 
No haven offers him its friendly shelter ! 
Without one ledge to grasp, the sheer smooth rocks 
Look down inhospitably on his despair, 
And only tender him their flinty breasts. 

Boy (calling from above). 

Father, a ship ; and bearing down from Fliielen 

Fishee. Heaven pity the poor wretches ! When the storm 
Is once entangled in this strait of ours, 
It rages like some savage beast of prey, 
Struggling against its cage's iron bars ! 
Howling, it seeks an outlet — all in vain; 
For the rocks hedge it round on every side, 
Walling the narrow pass as high as Heaven. 

[He ascends a cliff 



518 WILHELM TELL. [AifT IV. 

Boy. . . It is the Governor of Uri's ship ; 

By its red poop I know it, and the flag. 

Fisher. Judgments of Heaven ! Yes, it is he himself. 
It is the governor ! Yonder he sails, 
And with him bears the burden of his crimes ! 
Soon has the arm of the avenger found him ; 
Now over him he knows a mightier lord. 
These waves yield no obedience to his voice. 
These rocks bow not their heads before his cap. 
Boy, do not pray ; stay not the Judge's arm ! 

Boy . . I pray not for the governor — I pray 

For Tell, who is on board the sbip with him. 
Fisher. Alas, ye blind, unreasoning elements ! 
Must ye, in punishing one guilty head, 
Destroy the vessel and the pilot too ? 
Boy. . . See, see, they've clear'd the Buggisgrat*; but now 
The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster * r 
Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg * 
I cannot see them now. 
Fisherman. The Hakmesser* 

Is there, that's founder'd many a gallant ship. 
If they should fail to double that with skill, 
Their bark will go to pieces on the rocks, 
That hide their jagged peaks below the lake. 
They have on board the very best of pilots. 
If any man can save them, Tell is he ; 
But he is manacled both hand and foot. 

[Enter William Tell, with his crossbow. He 
enters precipitately, looks wildly round, and tes- 
tifies the most violent agitation. When he reaches 
the centre of the stage, he throws himself upon his 
knees, and stretches out his hands, first towards 
the earth, then towards Heaven. 
Boy {observing him). 

See, father ! Who is that man, kneeling yonder 1 
Fisher. He clutches at the earth with both his hands, 
And looks as though he were beside himself. 
Boy (advancing). 

What do I see ? Father, come here, and look ! 

* Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne. 



SC. I.J WILHELM TELL. 519 

Fisheeman [approaches). 

Who is it ? God in Heaven ! What ! William Tell ! 
How came you hither ? Speak, Tell ! 

Boy. Were you not 

In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains? 

Fisher. Were they not bearing you away to Kiissnacht ? 

Tell (rising). I am released. 

Fisherman and Boy. Released, oh miracle ! 

Boy. . . Whence came you here ? 

Tell. From yonder vessel ! 

Fisherman. What ? 

Boy. . . Where is the Viceroy ? 

Tell. Drifting on the waves. 

Fisher. Is't possible ? But you ! How are you here ? 

How 'scaped you from your fetters and the storm ? 

Tell. By God's most gracious providence. Attend. 

Fisher, and Boy. Say on, say on! 

Tell. You know what passed at Altdorf ? 

Fisher. I do — say on ! 

Tell. How I was seized and bound, 

And order'd by the governor to Kiissnacht. 

Fisher. And how with you at Fliielen he embarked. 

All this we know. Say, how have you escaped ? 

Tell. I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarm'd, 
In utter hopelessness. I did not think 
Again to see the gladsome light of day, 
Nor the dear faces of my wife and children, 
And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters. — 

Fisher. Oh, wretched man ! 

Tell. Then we put forth ; the Viceroy, 

Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow 
And quiver lay astern beside the helm ; 
And just as we had reached the corner, near 
The Little Axen *, Heaven ordain 'd it so, 
That from the Gotthardt s gorge, a hurricane 
Swept down upon us with such headlong force, 
That every rower's heart within him sank, 
And all on board look'd for a watery grave. 
Then heard I one of the attendant train, 

* A rock on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne* 



520 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV. 

Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him : 
" You see our danger, and your own, my lord, 
And that we hover on the verge of death. 
The boatmen there are powerless from fear, 
Nor are they confident what course to take ; — 
Now, here is Tell, a stout and fearless man, 
And knows to steer with more than common skill. 
How if we should avail ourselves of him 
In this emergency ?" The Viceroy then 
Address'd me thus: " If thou wilt undertake 
To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell, 
I might consent to free thee from thy bonds." 
I answer 'd, " Yes, my lord, with Gods assistance, 
I'll see what can be done, and help us Heaven!" 
On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I 
Stood by the helm and fairly steer" d along ; 
Yet ever eyed my shooting gear askance, 
And kept a watchful eye upon the shore, 
To find some point where I might leap to land : 
And when I had descried a shelving crag, 
That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake 

Fisher. I know it. Tis at foot of the Great Axen ; 

But looks so steep, I never could have dreamt 
Twere possible to leap it from the boat. 

Tell. I bade the men put forth their utmost might, 
Until we came before the shelving crag. 
For there, I said, the danger will be past ! 
Stoutly they pull'd, and soon we near'd the point ; 
One prayer to God for his assisting grace, 
And straining every muscle, I brought round 
The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall ; 
Tl^en snatching up my weapons, with a bound 
I swung myself upon the flattened shelf, 
And. with my feet thrust off, with all my might, 
The puny bark into the hell of waters. 
There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains ! 
Thus am I here, deliver'd from the might 
Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful stilL 

Fisher. Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought 
A miracle in thy behalf ! I scarce 
Can credit my own eyes. Bat tell me, now. 



SC. II ] W1LHELM TELL. 521 

Whither you purpose to betake yourself ? 

For you will be in peril, should the Viceroy 

Chance to escape this tempest with his life. 
Tell. I heard him say, as I lay bound on board, 

His purpose was to disembark at Brunnen ; 

And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle. 
Fisher. Means he to go by land ? 
Tell. So he intends 

Fisher. Oh, then, conceal yourself without delay ! 

Not twice will Heaven release you from his grasp. 
Tell. Which is the nearest way to Arth and Kiissnacht ? 
Fisher. The public road leads by the way of Stein en, 

But there's a nearer road, and more retired, 

That goes by Lowerz, which my boy can show you. 
Tell (gives him his hand). 

May Heaven reward your kindness ! Fare ye well. 

[As he is going, he comes back. 

Did not you also take the oath at Eootli ? 

I heard your name, methinks. 
Fisherman. Yes, I was there, 

And took the oath of the confederacy. 
Tell. Then do me this one favour : speed to Burglen — 

My wife is anxious at my absence — tell her 

That I am free, and in secure concealment. 
Fisher. But whither shall I tell her you have fled? 
Tell. You'll find her father with her, and some more, 

Who took the oath with you upon the Eootli ; 

Bid them be resolute, and strong of heart, — 

For Tell is free and mas^rjo:Mris~arm ; 

They shall hear further news of me ere long. 
Fisher. What have you, then, in view ? Come, tell me 

frankly ! 
Tell. When once 'tis done, 'twill be in every mouth. [Exit. 
Fisher. Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support ! 

Whate'er he has resolved, he'll execute [Exit. 

Scene II. 

Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The Baron upon a 
couch dying. Walter Furst, Stauffacher, Melchthal, 
and Baumgarten attending round him. Walter Tell 
kneeling before the dying man. 

Furst, All now is over r with him. He is gone 



52*2 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV 

Stauff. He lies not like one dead. The feather, see, 

Moves on his lips ! His sleep is very calm, 

And on his features plays a placid smile. 

[Baumgakten goes to the door and speaks with 
some one. 
Furst. Who's there ? 
Baumgarten (returning). 

Tell's wife, your daughter, she insists 

That she must speak with you, and see her boy. 

[Walter Tell rises 
Furst. I who need comfort — can I comfort her ? 

Does every sorrow centre on my head ? 
Hedwig (forcing her way in). 

Where is my child ? Unhand me ! I must see him. 
Stauff. Be calm ! Reflect you're in the house of death ! 
Hedwig (falling upon her boy's neck). 

My Walter ! Oh, he yet is mine ! 
Walter. Dear mother ! 

Hedw. And is it surely so ? Art thou unhurt ? 

[Gazing at him with anxious tenderness 

And is it possible he aim'd at thee ? 

How could he do it ? Oh, he has no heart — 

And he could wing an arrow at his child ! 
Furst. His soul was rack'd with anguish when he did it. 

No choice was left him, but to shoot or die ! 
Hedw. Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would 

Have sooner perish'd by a thousand deaths ! 
Stauff. You should be grateful for God's gracious care, 

That ordered things so well. 
Hedwig. Can I forget 

What might have been the issue. God of Heaven . 

Were I to live for centuries, I still 

Should see my boy tied up, — his father's mark, — 

And still the shaft would quiver in my heart! 
Melch. You know not how the Viceroy taunted him ! 
Hedw. Oh, ruthless heart of man ! Offend his pride, 

And reason in his breast forsakes her seat ; 

In his blind wrath he'll stake upon a cast 

A child's existence, and a mother's heart ! 
Baum. Is then your husband's fate not hard enough, 

That you embitter it by such reproaches ? 

Have you no feeling for his sufferings ? 



SO. II.] WILHELM TELL, 5£3 

Hedwig {turning to him and gazing full upon him). 

Hast thou tears only for thy friends distress? 
Say, where were you when he — my noble Tell, 
Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship 

then ? 
The shameful wrong was done before your eyes ; 
Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragg'd, 
Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell 
Act thus to you ? Did he stand whining by 
When on your heels the Viceroy's horsemen press 'd, 
And full before you roared the storm-toss 'd lake ? 
Oh not with idle tears he show'd his pity ; 
Into the boat he sprung, forgot his home, 
His wife, his children, and delivered thee ! 

Furst. It had been madness to attempt his rescue, 
Unarm'd, and few in numbers as we were? 

Hedwjg (casting herself upon his bosom). 

Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell ! 

The country — all have lost him ! All lament 

His loss ; and, oh, how he must pine for us ! 

Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair! 

No friend's consoling voice can penetrate 

His dreary dungeon walls. Should he fall sick ! 

Ah ! In the vapours of the murky vault 

He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose 

Grows pale and withers in the swampy air, 

There is no life for him, but in the su% 

And in the balm of Heaven's refreshing breeze. 

Imprison'd ! Liberty to him is breath ; 

He cannot live in the rank dungeon air ! 

Stauff. Pray you be calm! And hand in hand, we'll all 
Combine to burst his prison doors. 

Hedwig. Without him, 

What have you power to do ? While Tell was free, 
There still, indeed, was hope — weak innocence 
Had still a friend, and the oppress 'd a stay. 
Tell saved you all ! You cannot all combined 
Eelease him from his cruel prison bonds. 

[The Baron wakes 

Baum. Hush, hush! He starts! 

Attinghausen (sitting up). Where is he ? 



524 WILHELM TELL. [ACT TV. 

Stauffachee. Who ? 

Attinghausen. He leaves me, — 

In my last moments he abandons me. 

Stauff. He means his nephew. Have they sent for him? 

Fuest. He has been summoned. Cheerly sir! Take comfort! 
He has found his heart at last, and is our own. 

Atting. Say, has he spoken for his native land ? 

Stauff. Ay, like a hero ! 

Attinghausen. Wherefore comes he not, 

That he may take my blessing ere I die ? 
I feel my life fast ebbing to a close. 

Stauff. Nay, talk not thus, dear sir ! This last short sleep 
Has much refresh'd you, and your eye is bright. 

Atting. Life is but pain, and even that has left me ; 

My sufferings, like my hopes, have pass'd away. 

[Observing the boy 
What boy is that? 

Fuest. Bless him. Oh, good my lord ! 

He is my grandson, and is fatherless. 

[Hedwig kneels with the boy before the dying man 

Atting. And fatherless — I leave you all, ay all ! 

Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see 
My country's ruin, as they close in death ! 
Must I attain the utmost verge of life, 
To feel my hopes go with me to the grave ? 

Stauffachee (to Fuest). 

Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this ? 
Shall not his parting moments be illumed 
By hope's delightful beams ? My noble lord, 
Raise up your drooping spirit ! We are not 
Forsaken quite — past all deliverance. 

Atting. Who shall deliver you ? 

Fuest. Ourselves. For know 

The Cantons three are to each other pledged, 
To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league 
Has been concluded, and a sacred oath 
Confirms our union. Ere another year 
Begins its circling course — the blow shall fall 
In a free land your ashes shall repose. 

Atting. The league concluded ! Is it really so ? 

Melch. On one day shall the' Cantons rise together 



SC. IX.] WILHELM TELL. 5Q5 

All is prepared to strike — and to this hour 
The secret closely kept, though hundreds share it 
The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrants' feet ; 
Their days of rule are number 'd, and ere long 
No trace of their dominion shall remain. 

Atting. Ay, Du t their castles, how to master them? 

Melch. On the same day they, too, are doom'd to fall. 

Atting. And are the nobles parties to this league ? 

Stauff. We trust to their assistance should we need it; 
As yet the peasantry alone have sworn. 

Atting. (raising himself up, in great astonishment?) 
And have the peasantry dared such a deed 
On their own charge, without the nobles' aid — 
Eelied so much on their own proper strength ? 
Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more ; 
We may go down to death cheer'd by the thought, 
That after us the majesty of man 
Will live, and be maintain 'd by other hands. 

[He lays his hand upon the head of the child, who 
is kneeling before him. 
From this boy's head, whereon the apple lay, 
Your new and better liberty shall spring ; 
The old is crumbling down — the times are changing — 
And from the ruins blooms a fairer life. 

Stauffacher (to Furst). 

See, see, what splendour streams around his eye ! 
This is not Nature's last expiring flame, 
It is the beam of renovated life. 

Atting From their old towers the nobles are descending, 
And swearing in the towns the civic oath. 
In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun ; 
The noble Bern lifts her commanding head, 
And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free ; 
The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms ; — 
And now, behold ! — the ancient might of kings 
Is shiver 'd 'gainst her everlasting walls. 

[He speaks what folloivs with a prophetic tone i 
his utterance rising into enthusiasm. 
I see the princes and their haughty peers, 
Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush 
A harmless shepherd race with mailed haul. 



526 WTLHELM TELL. [ACT IV 

Desp'rate the conflict : 'tis for life or death ; 
And many a pass will tell to after years 
Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood * 
The peasant throws himself with naked breast, 
A willing victim on their serried lances. 
They yield — the flower of chivalry's cut down, 
And freedom waves her conquering banner high ! 
[Grasps the hands of Waltek Furst and Stauf- 

FACHER. 

Hold fast together, then,— for ever fast ! 

Let freedom's haunts be one in heart and mind ! 

Set watches on your mountain tops, that league 

May answer league, when comes the hour to strike. 

Be one — be one — be one 

[He falls back upon the cushion. His lifeless 
hands continue to grasp those of Furst and 
Statjffacher, who regard him for some mo- 
ments in silence, and then retire, overcome with 
sorrow. Meanwhile the servants have quietly 
pressed into the chamber, testifying different de- 
grees of grief Some kneel down beside him 
and weep on his body : while this scene is pass- 
ing, the castle bell tolls. 
Rtjdenz (entering hurriedly). 

Lives he ? Oh say, can he still hear my voice ? 
Furst (averting his face). 

You are our seignior and protector now ; 

Henceforth this castle bears another name. 
Rtjdenz {gazing at the body with deep emotton). 

Oh, God ! Is my repentance, then, too late ? 

Could he not live some few brief moments more, 

To see the change that has come o'er my heart '? 

Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice 

While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone, — 

* An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of Wink 
ried, at the battle of Sempach, [9th July, 1386,] who broke the Austrian 
phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as he could 
reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates rushed 
forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their comrade, broke 
and cut down their enemy's ranks, and soon became the masters of the field. 
" Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a passage. Protect in) 
wife and children," were the words of Winkelried, as he rushed to death. 



SC\ II.J WILHELM TELL. 59^ 

Gone, and for ever, — leaving me the debt — 

The heavy debt I owe him — undischarged ! 

Oh, tell me ! did he part in anger with me ? 
Stauff. When dying, he was told what you had done, 

And bless'd the valour that inspired your words ! 
Kudenz (kneeling down beside the dead body). 

Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved ! 

Thou lifeless corpse ! Here, on thy death-cold hand, 

Do I abjure all foreign ties for ever ! 

And to my country's cause devote myself. 

I am a Switzer, and will act as one, 

With my whole heart and soul. \ Rises 

Mourn for our fi lead, 

Our common parent, yet be not dismay 'd ! 

'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit, — 

His heart— his spirit, have devolved on me ; 

And my young arm shall execute the task, 

For which his hoary age remain 'd your debtor. 

Give me your hands, ye venerable fathers ! 

Thine, Melchthal, too ! Nay, do not hesitate, 

Nor from me turn distrustfully away. 

Accept my plighted vow — my knightly oath ! 
Furst. Give him your hands, my friends ! A heart like his. 

That sees and owns its error, claims our trust. 
Melch. You ever held the peasantry in scorn, 

What surety have we, that you mean us fair ? 
Bud. . . Oh, think not of the error of my youth ! 
Stauffacher (to Melchthal). 

Be one ! They were our father's latest words. 

See they be not forgotten ! 
Melch. Take my hand, — 

A peasant's hand, — and with it, noble sir, 

The gage and the assurance of a man ! 

Without us, sir, what w r ould the nobles be ? 

Our order is more ancient, too, than yours ! 
Eud. . . I honour it, and with my sword will shield it ! 
Melch. The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth, 

And makes its bosom blossom with increase, 

Can also shield a man's defenceless breast. 
Rud . Then you shall shield my breast, and I will yours ; 

Thus each be strengthen'd by the others aid ! 



528 WILHELM TELL. [ACT TV 

.Yet wherefore talk we, while our native land 
Is still to alien tyranny a prey ? 
First let us sweep the foeman from the soil, 
Then reconcile our difference in peace ! 

[After a moment's pausA 
How ! You are silent ! Not a word for me ? 
And have I yet no title to your trust ? — 
Then must I force my way, despite your will, 
Into the League you secretly have formfd. 
You've held a Diet on the Eootli, — I 
Know this, — know all that was transacted there ! 
And though I was not trusted with your secret, 
I still have kept it like a sacred pledge. 
Trust me, I never was my country's foe, 
Nor would I e'er have ranged myself against ycu ! 
Yet you did wrong — to put your rising off. 
Time- presses ! We must strike, and swiftly too ! 
Already Tell has fallen a sacrifice 
To your delay. 

Stauff. We swore to wait till Christmas. 

Run. . I was not there, — I did not take the oath. 
If you delay, I will not ! 

Mexchthal. What ! You would 

Bud. . . I count me now among the country's fathers, 
And to protect you is my foremost duty. 

Furst. Within the earth to lay these dear remains, 
That is your nearest and most sacred duty. 

Hud. . . When we have set the country free, well place 
Our fresh victorious wreaths upon his bier. 
Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone ! — 
I have a cause to battle with the tyrants, 
That more concerns myself. Know, that my Bertha 
Has disappear 'd, — been carried off by stealth, — - 
Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian hands ! 

Stauff. And has the tyrant dared so fell an outrage 
Against a lady free and nobly born ? 

Run. . . Alas ! my friends, I promised help to you, 
And I must first implore it for myself ! 
She that I love, is stolen — is forced away, 
And who knows where the tyrant has conceal'd her, 
Or with what outrages his ruffian crew 



gC III. J WILHELM TELL. 529 

May force her into nuptials she detests ? 
Forsake me not ! — Oh help me to her rescue. 
She loves you ! Well, oh well, has she deserved, 
That all should rush to arms in her behalf ! 

Stauff. What course do you propose ? 

Rudenz. Alas ! I know not. 

In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate, — 
In the dread agony of this suspense, — 
Where I can grasp at nought of certainty, — 
One single ray of comfort beams upon me. 
From out the ruins of the tyrant's power 
Alone can she be rescued from the grave. 
Their strongholds must be levell'd ! every one, 
Ere we can pierce into her gloomy prison. 

Melch. Come, lead us on ! We follow ! Why defer 
Until to-morrow, what to-day may do ? 
Tells arm was free when we at Rootli swore, 
This foul enormity was yet undone. 
And change of circumstance brings change of law ; 
Who such a coward as to waver still ? 

Rudenz (to Walter Furst). 

Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness 
The fiery signal on the mountain tops. 
For swifter than a boat can scour the lake 
Shall you have tidings of our victory ; 
And when you see the welcome flames ascend, 
Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe, 
And lay the despots and their creatures low ! 

Scene III. 

The pass near Kussnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks 
on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, 
before they appear on the stage. Bocks all round the stage 
Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with 
brushwood. 
Tell (enters with his crossbow). 

Here thro' this deep defile he needs must pass ; 

There leads no other road to Kiissnacht : — here 

I'll do it : — the opportunity is good. 

Yon alder tree stands well for my concealment, 

Thence my avenging shaft will surely reach him 



58 ) WILHELM TELL [ACT TV. 

The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. 

Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven ! 

Thou must away from earth, — thy sand is run. 

I led a peaceful inoffensive life ; — 
My bow was bent on forest game alone, 
And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder- 
But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace ; 
The milk of human kindness thou hast turn'd 
To rankling poison in my breast ; and made 
Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. 
He who could make his own child's head his mark, 
Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart. 

My children dear, my lov'd and faithful wife, 
Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury ! — 
When last I drew my bow — with trembling hand — 
And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced 
To level at his child — when, all in vain, 
Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy — 
Then in the agony of my soul, I vow'd 
A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, 
That when my bow next wing'd an arrow's flight, 
Its aim should be thy heart. — The vow I made, 
Amid the hellish torments of that moment, 
I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. 

Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate ; 
Yet would the Emperor not have stretch 'd his powei 
So far as thou. — He sent thee to these Cantons 
To deal forth law — stern law — for he is anger'd ; 
But not to wanton with unbridled will 
In every cruelty, with fiend-like joy : — 
There is a God to punish and avenge. 

Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, 
My precious jewel now, — my chiefest treasure — 
A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief 
Could never penetrate, — but thou shalt pierce it.— 
And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft 
Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes, 



tfC. Ill WILHELM TELL 531 

Desert me not in this most serious hour — 
Only be true this once, my own good cord, 
That hast so often wing'd the biting shaft : — 
For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand^ 
I have no second to send after thee. 

[Travellers pass over the stage 

I'll sit me down upon this bench of stone, 
Hewn for the way-worn traveller's brief repose — 
For here there is no home. — Each hurries by 
The other, with quick step and careless look, 
Nor stays to question of his grief. — Here goes 
The merchant, full of care, — the pilgrim, next, 
With slender scrip, — and then the pious monk, 
The scowling robber, and the jovial player, 
The carrier with his heavy-laden horse, 
That comes to us from the far haunts of men ; 
For every road conducts to the world's end. 
They all push onwards — every man intent 
On his own several business — mine is murder. 

[Sits down 

Time was, my dearest children, when with joy 
You hail'd your father's safe return to home 
From his long mountain toils ; for, when he came, 
He ever brought some little present with him. 
A lovely x\lpine flower — a curious bird — 
Or elf-boat, found by wanderer on the hills. — 
But now he goes in quest of other game : 
In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder ; 
And watches for the life-blood of his foe. — 
But still his thoughts are fixed on you alone, 
Dear children. — 'Tis to guard your innocence, 
To shield you from the tyrant's fell revenge, 
He bends his bow to do a deed of blood ! [Rises 

Well — I am watching for a noble prey — 
Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, 
Boam for whole days, amid the winter's cold, 
Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock, — 
And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which 
His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood— 

m m 2 



532 



WILHELM TELL. 



ACT IV 



Stussi. 



Tell. 

Stussi. 



Tell. 

Stussi. 



Tell. 
Stussi. 



And all this but to gain a wretched cnamois 
A far more precious prize is now my aim — 
The heart of that dire foe, who would destroy me. 
[Sprightly music heard in the distance, which comes 
gradually nearer. 
From my first years of boyhood I have used 
The bow — been practised in the archer's feats ; 
The bull's eye many a time my shafts have hit, 
And many a goodly prize have I brought home, 
Won in the games of skill. — This day I'll make 
My master- shot, and win the highest prize 
Within the whole circumference of the mountains. 
[A marriage train passes over the stage, and goes 
up the pass. Tell gazes at it, leaning on his 
bow. He is joined by Stussi the Ranger. 

There goes the bridal party of the steward 
Of Morlischachen's cloister. He is rich ! 
And has some ten good pastures on the Alps. 
He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee, 
There will be revelry to-night at Kiissnacht. 
Come with us — ev'ry honest man's invited. 
A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast. 
If grief oppress you, dash it from your heart I 
Bear with your lot. The times are heavy now,' 
And we must snatch at pleasure while we can. 
Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial. 
And oft the one treads close upon the other. 
So runs the world at present. Everywhere 
W T e meet with woe and misery enough. 
There's been a slide of earth in Glarus, and 
A whole side of the Glarnisch has fallen in. 
Strange ! And do even the hills begin to totter ? 
There is stability for nought on earth. 
Strange tidings, too, we hear from other parts. 
I spoke with one but now, that came from Baden, 
Who said a knight was on his way to court, 
And, as he rode along, a swarm of wasps 
Surrounded him, and settling on his horse, 
So fiercely stung the beast, that it fell dead, 
And he proceeded to the court on foot. 



SC III.] WILHELM TELL 533 

Tell. Even the weak are furnish'd with a sting. 

Armgart {enters with several children, and places herself at the 

entrance of the pass). 
Stussi. Tis thought to bode disaster to the country, — 

Some horrid deed against the course of nature. 
Tell. Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds ; 

There needs no miracle to tell their coming. 
Stussi. Too true! He's bless'd, who tills- his field in peace, 

And sits untroubled by his own fireside. 
Tell. The very meekest cannot rest in quiet, 

Unless it suits with his ill neighbour's humour. 

[Tell looks frequently with restless expectation to- 
wards the top of the pass. 
Stussi. So fare you well ! You're waiting some one here ? 
Tell. I am. 
Stussi. A pleasant meeting with your friends ! 

You are from Uri, are you not ? His grace 

The governor s expected thence to-day. 
Traveller (entering). 

Look not to see the governor to-day. 

The streams are flooded by the heavy rains, 

And all the bridges have been swept away. 

[Tell rises. 
Armgart (coming forward). 

The Viceroy not arriv'd ? 
Stussi. And do you seek him ? 

Arm. . . Alas, I do ! 
Stussi. But why thus place yourself 

Where you obstruct his passage down the pass ? 
Arm. . . Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me. 
Friess. (coming hastily down the pass, and calls upon the stage). 

Make way, make way ! My lord, the governor, 

Is coming down on horseback close behind me. 

[Exit Tell. 
Abmgart (with animation). 

The Viceroy comes ! 

[She goes towards ine pass with her children. 
Gessler and Rudolph der Harras appear 
upon the heights on horseback. 
Stussi (to Friesshardt). How got ye through the stream, 

When all the bridges have been carried down ? 



534 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV. 

Fkiess. We've battled with the billows ; ar d, my friend, 
An Alpine torrent's nothing after that. 

Stussi. How ! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm ? 

Friess. Ay, that we were ! I shall not soon forget it. 

Stussi. Stay, speak — 

Friess. I cannot. I must to the castle, 

And tell them, that the governors at hand. [Exit. 

Stussi. If honest men, now, had been in the ship, 

It had gone down with every soul on board : — 
Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both. 

[Looking round. 
Where has the huntsman gone, with whom I spoke ? 

[Exit 

Enter Gessler and Rudolph der Harras on horseback. 

Gessl. Say what you please ; I am the Emperor's servant, 
And my first care must be to do bis pleasure. 
He did not send me here to fawn and cringe 
And coax these boors into good humour. No ! 
Obedience he must have. We soon shall see, 
If king or peasant is to lord it here ? 
Arm. . , Now is the moment ! Now for my petition * 
Gessl. 'Twas not in sport that 1 set up the cap 

In Altdorf — or to try the people's hearts — 
All this I knew before. I set it up 
That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks 
They carry far too proudly — and 1 placed 
What well I knew their eyes could never brook 
Full in the road, which they perforce must pass, 
That, when their eye fell on it, they might call 
That lord to mind whom they too much forget 
Har. . . But surely, sir, the people have some rights — 
Gessl. This is no time to settle what they are. 

Great projects are at work, and hatching now. 
The Imperial house seeks to extend its power. 
Those vast designs of conquest, which the sire 
Has gloriously begun, the son will end. 
This petty nation is a stumbling-block — 
One way or other, it must be subjected. 

[They are about to pass on. Armgart throws 
herself down before Gessler 



SC III.] WILHELM TELL. 53t, 

Arm. . Mercy, lord governor ! Oh, pardon, pardon ! 

Gessl. Why do you cross me on the public road ? 
Stand back, I say. 

Armgart. My husband lies in prison ; 

My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity, 
Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress ! 
Bar. . . Who are you, woman ; and who is your husband ? 

A rm. . . A poor wild-hay-man of the Rigiberg, 

Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss, 

Mows down the grass from steep and craggy shelves.. 

To which the very cattle dare not climb. 

Harras (to Gessler). 

By Heaven ! a sad and miserable life ! 

I prithee, give the wretched man his freedom. 

How great soever his offence may be, 

His horrid trade is punishment enough. 

[To Armgart, 
You shall have justice. To the castle bring 
Your suit. This is no place to deal with it. 

Arm. . . No, no, I will not stir from where I stand, 
Until your grace restore my husband to me. 
Six months already has he been in prison, 
And waits the sentence of a judge in vain. 

Gessl. How ! would you force me, woman ? Hence ! Begone ! 

Arm. . . Justice, my lord ! Ay, justice ! Thou art judge : 
The deputy of the Emperor — of Heaven. 
Then do thy duty, — as thou hopest for justice 
From Him who rules above, show it to us ! 

Gessl. Hence, drive this daring rabble from my sight ! 

Armgart [seizing his horses reins). 

No, no, by Heaven, I've nothing more to lose. — 
Thou stirr'st not, Viceroy, from this spot, until 
Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows, 
And roll thy eyes — I fear not. Our distress 
Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care 
No longer for thine anger. 

Gessler. Woman, hence ! 

Give way, I say, or I will ride thee down. 

Arm. . . Well, do so — there— 

[Throws her children and herself upon the gro una 
before him. 



536 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IT. 

Here on the ground I lie, 
I and my children. Let the wretched orphans 
Be trodden by thy horse into the dust ! 
It will not be the worst, that thou hast done. 
Hab. . . Are you mad, woman ? 
Armgart (continuing with vehemence). 

Many a day thou hast 
Trampled the Emperors lands beneath thy feet. 
Oh, I am but a woman ! Were I man, 
I'd find some better thing to do, than here 
Lie grovelling in the dust. 

[The music of the wedding party is again heaid 
from the top of the pass, but more softly. 
Gessler. Where are my knaves ? 

Drag her away, lest I forget myself, 
And do some deed I may repent hereafter. 
Har. . ♦ My lord, the servants cannot force a passage : 

The pass is block'd up by a marriage party. 
Gessl. Too mild a ruler am I to this people, 

Their tongues are all too bold — nor have they yet 
Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be. 
I must take order for the remedy ; 
I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs, 
And crush the Soul of Liberty within them. 
Ill publish a new law throughout the land ; 
I will— 

[An arrow pierces him, — he puts his hand on his 
heart, and is about to sink — with a feeble voice, 
Oh God, have mercy on my soul ! 
Har. . . My lord ! my lord ! Oh God ! What's this ? Whence 

came it ? 
Armgart (starts up). 

Dead, dead ! He reels, he falls ! 'Tis in his heart i 
H arras {springs from his horse). 

This is most horrible ! Oh Heavens ! sir knight, 
Address yourself to God and pray for mercy, — 
You are a dying man. 
Gessler. That shot was Tell's 

[He slides from his horse into the arms of Ku 
dolph der Harras, who lays him down upon 
the bench. Tell appears above upon the rocks 



850 III.] WILHELM TELL. 537 

Tell. Thou know'st the archer, seek no other hand. 
Our cottages are free, and innocence 
Secure from thee : thoult be our curse no more. 

[Tell disappears. People rush in. 
Stussi What is the matter ? Tell me what has happen'd ? 
Arm. . . The governor is shot, — kill'd by an arrow ! 
People (running in). 

Who has been shot ? 

[While the foremost of the marriage party an 
coming on the stage, the hindmost are still upon 
the heights. The music continues. 
Habeas. He's bleeding fast to death. 

Away, for help— pursue the murderer ! 
Unhappy man, is't thus that thou must die ? 
Thou wouldst not heed the warnings that I gave 
thee ! 
Stussi. By Heaven, his cheek is pale ! His life ebbs fast. 
Many Voices. 

Who did the deed ? 
Habeas. What ! Are the people mad, 

That they make music to a murder ? Silence ! 

[Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to 
flock in. 
Speak, if thou canst, my lord. Hast thou no charge 
To intrust me with ? 

[Gessler makes signs with his hand, which hs 
repeats with vehemence, when he finds they art 
not understood. 

What would you have me do k ? 
Shall I to Kiissnacht ? I can't guess your meaning. 
Do not give way to this impatience. Leave 
All thoughts of earth, and make your peace with 
Heaven. 
[The whole marriage party gather round tht 
dying man. 
Stussi. See there ! how pale he grows ! Death's gathering 
now 
About his heart ; — his eyes grow dim and glazed. 
Armgaet (holds up a child). 

Look, children, how a tyrant dies ! 



538 WILHELM TELL. [ACT IV 

Harras. Mad hag ! 

Have you no touch of feeling, that you look 
On horrors such as these, without a shudder? 
Help me — take hold. What, will not one assist 
To pull the torturing arrow from his breast ? 
Women. We touch the man whom God's own hand has struck : 
Har. . . All curses light on you ! [Draws his sword. 

Stussi [seizes his arm). Gently, sir knight! 

Your power is at an end. 'Twere best forbear. 
Our country's foe is fallen. We will brook 
No further violence. We are free men. 
All. The country's free ! 

Harras. And is it come to this? 

Fear and obedience at an end so soon ? 

[To the soldiers of the guard, who are thronging in. 
You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work 
They've acted here. 'Tis now too late for help, 
And to pursue the murderer were vain. 
New duties claim our care. Set on to Kussnacht, 
And let us save that fortress for the king ! 
For in an hour like this, all ties of order, 
Fealty and faith, are scatter 'd to the winds. 
No man's fidelity is to be trusted. 

[As he is going out with the soldiers, six Fratres 
Misericordle appear. 
Arm. . . Here come the brotherhood of mercy. Room ! 
Stussi. The victim's slain, and now the ravens stoop. 
Brothers of Mercy (form a semicircle round the body, and 
sing in solemn tones). 
With hasty step death presses on, 

Nor grants to man a moment's stay, 
He falls ere half his race be run, 

In manhood s pride is swept away ■ 
Prepar'd, or unprepar'd, to die, 
He stands before his Judge on high. 

[While they are repeating the two last dues, the 
curtain falls. 



SO. I.] 



WILHELM TELL. 



53^ 



ACT V, 

Scene I. 

A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the 
Keep of Uri, with the scaffold still standing, as in the Third 
Scene of the first Act. To the left, the view opens upon nu- 
merous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. 
Day is breaking, and bells are heard ringing from various 
distances. 

Ruodi, Kuoni, Werni, Master Mason, and many other 

country people, also women and children. 
Ruodi. Look at the fiery signals on the mountains ! 
Mason. Hark to the bells above the forest there ! 
Ruodi. The enemy's expelled. 
Mason. The forts are taken. 

Ruodi. And we of Uri, do we still endure 

Upon our native soil, the tyrant's Keep ? 

Are we the last to strike for liberty ? 
Mason. Shall the yoke stand, that was to bow our necks ? 

Up ! Tear it to the ground ! 
All. Down, down with it I 

Ruodi. Where is the Stier of Uri? 

Uri. . . Here. What would ye ? 

Ruodi. Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast, 

As shall resound afar, from hill to hill ; 

Rousing the echoes of each peak and glen, 

And call the mountain men in haste together! 

[Exit Stier of Uri — enter Walter Furst 
Furst. Stay, stay, my friends ! As yet we have not learn'd 

What has been done in Unterwald and Schwytz. 

Let's wait till we receive intelligence ! 
Ruodi. Wait, wait for what? The accursed tyrant's dead, 

And the bright day of liberty has dawn'd ! 
Mason. How ! Do these flaming signals not suffice, 

That blaze on every mountain top around? 
Ruodi. Come all, fall to — come, men and women, all ! 

Destroy the scaffold ! Tear the arches down ! 

Down with the walls , let not a stone remain ! 
Mason. Come, comrades, come ! We built it, and we know 

How best to hurl it down 



340 WILHELM TELL. ACT 7 

All. Come ! Down with it ! 

[They fall upon the building at every side. 

Furst The floodgate's burst They're not to be restrained. 
[Enter Melchthal and Baumgarten. 

Melch. What ! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies 
In ashes, and when Rossberg is a ruin ? 

Furst. You, Melchthal, here ? D'ye bring us liberty? 
Say, have you freed the country of the foe ? 

Melch. We've swept them from the soil. Rejoice, my friend, 
Now, at this very moment, while we speak, 
There's not a tyrant left in Switzerland ! 

Furst. How did you get the forts into your power? 

Melch. Rudenz it was who with a gal] ant arm, 

And manly daring, took the keep at Sarnen. 
The Rossberg I had storm 'd the night before. 
But hear, what chanced. Scarce had we driven the foe 
Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames, 
That now rose crackling upwards to the skies, 
When from the blaze rush'd Diethelm, Gessler's page. 
Exclaiming, " Lady Bertha will be burnt ! " 

Furst. Good heavens ! 

[The beams of the scaffold are heard falling. 

Melch. 'Twas she herself. Here had she been 

Immured in secret by the Viceroy's orders. 
Rudenz sprang up in frenzy. For we heard 
The beams and massive pillars crashing down, 
And through the volumed smoke the piteous shrieks 
Of the unhappy lady. 

Furst. Is she saved ? 

Melch. Here was a time for promptness and decision ! 
Had he been nothing but our baron, then 
We should have been most chary of our lives ; 
But he was our confederate, and Bertha 
Honour 'd the people. So, without a thought, 
We risk'd the worst, and rush'd into the flames. 

Furst. But is she saved ? 

Melch. She is. Rudenz and I 

Bore her between us from the blazing pile. 
With crashing timbers toppling all around. 
And when she had revived, the danger past, 
And raised her eyes to meet the light of heaven, 



1.1 



WILHELM TELL 



541 



The baron fell upon my breast ; and then 
A silent vow of friendship pass'd between us — 
A vow that, temper'd in yon furnace heat, 
Will last through ev'ry shock of time and fate. 

Furst. Where is the Landenberg? 

Melch. Across the Briinig. 

No fault of mine it was, that he, who quench 'd 
My father s eyesight, should go hence unharm'd. 
He fled — I followed — overtook and seized him, 
And dragg'd him to my father's feet. The sword 
Already quiver'd o'er the caitiff's head, 
When at the entreaty of the blind old man, 
I spared the life for which he basely pray'd. 
He swore Urphede * , never to return : 
He'll keep his oatn, for he has felt our arm. 

Furst. Thank God, our victory's unstain'd by blood ! 

Child pen [running across the stage with fragments of wood) 
Liberty ! Liberty ! Hurrah, we're free ! 

Furst. Oh ! what a joyous scene ! These children will, 
E'en to their latest day, remember it. 

[Girls bring in the cap upon a pole. The whoU 
stage is filled with people. 

Ruodi. Here is the cap, to which we were to bow ! 

Baum. . Command us, how we shall dispose of it. 

Furst. Heavens ! 'Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood ! 

Several Voices. 

Destroy the emblem of the tyrant's power ! 
Let it be burnt ! 

Furst. No. Eather be preserved ! 

'Twas once the instrument of despots — now 
'Twill be a lasting symbol of our freedom. 

[Peasants, men, women, and children, some stand- 
ing, others sitting upon the beams of the shat- 
tered scaffold, all picturesquely grouped, in a 
large semicircle. 

Melch. Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts, 

* The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man, who wa« 
at feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made 
terms with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himseli 
So depart, and never to return with a hostile intentipn. 



642 WILHELM TELL 



1CT V 



We stand upon the wreck of tyranny ; 
, And gallantly have we fulfill 'd the oath, 

Which we at Rootli swore, Confederates ! 
Furst The work is but began. We must be firm. 

For, be assured, the king will -nake all speed, 

To avenge his Viceroy's death, and reinstate, 

By force of arms, the tyrant we've expell'd. 
Melch. Why let him come, with all his armaments ! 

The foe within has fled before our arms ; 

Well give him welcome warmly from without ! 
Ruodi. The passes to the countiy are but few ; 

And these we'll boldly cover with our bodies. 
Baum. . We are bound by an indissoluble league, 

And all his armies shall not make us quail. 

[Enter Rosselmann and Stauffacher. 
Rosselmann (speaking as he enters). 

These are the awful judgments of the Lord ! 
Peas. . What is the matter? 

Rosselmann. In what times we live ! 

Fukst. Say on, what is't? Ha, Werner, is it you? 

What tidings ? 
Peasant. What's the matter ? 

Rosselmann. Hear and wonder ! 

Stauff. We are released from one great cause of dread. 
Rossel. The Emperor is murdered. 
Furst. Gracious Heaven ! 

[Peasants rise up and throng round Stauffacher 
All. . . Murder'd the Emp'ror? What! The Emp'ror ! Hear! 
Melch. Impossible ! How came you by the news ? 
Stauff. 'Tis true ! Near Bruck, by the assassin's hand, 

King Albert fell. A most trustworthy man, 

John Miiller, from Schaffhausen, brought the news 
Furst. Who dared commit so horrible a deed ? 
Stauff. The doer makes the deed more dreadful still ; 

It was his nephew, his own brother's child, 

Duke John of Austria, who struck the blow. 
Melch. What drove him to so dire a parricide ? 
S tauff. The Emp'ror kept his patrimony back, 

Despite his urgent importunities ; 



sIC l] W1LHELM TELL. 54S 

Twas said, indeed, he never meant to give it, 
But with a mitre to appease the duke. 
However this may be, the duke gave ear 
To the ill counsel of his friends in arms ; 
And with the noble lords, Von Eschenbach, 
Von Tegerfeld, Von Wart and Palm, resolved, 
Since his demands for justice were despised, 
With his own hands to take revenge at least. 

Ft rst. But say, how eompass'd he the dreadful deed ? 

S jauff. The king was riding down from Stein to Baden, 
Upon his way to join the court at Kheinfeld, — 
With him a train of high-born gentlemen, 
And the young Princes John and Leopold. 
And when they'd reach'd the ferry of the Reuss, 
The assassins forced their way into the boat, 
To separate the Emperor from his suite. 
His highness landed, and was riding on 
Across a fresh plough'd field — where once, they say, 
A mighty city stood in Pagan times — 
With Habsburg's ancient turrets full in sight, 
Where all the grandeur of his line had birth — 
When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat, 
Palm ran him thro' the body with his lance, 
Eschenbach cleft his skull at one fell blow, 
And down he sank, all weltering in his blood, 
On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain. 
Those on the opposite bank, who saw the deed, 
Being parted by the stream, could only raise 
An unavailing cry of loud lament 
But a poor woman, sitting by the way, 
Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death. 

Melch. Thus has he dug his own untimely grave, 
Who sought insatiably to grasp at all. 

Stauff. The country round is nll'd with dire alarm. 
The mountain passes are blockaded all, 
And sentinels on ev'ry frontier set; 
E'en ancient Zurich barricades her gates, 
That for these thiity years have open stood, 
Dreading the murd'rers, and th' avengers more. 
For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian queen, 



644 WILHELM TELL. [ACT V, 

To all her sex's tenderness a stranger, 

Arm'd with the thunders of the church, to wreak 

Dire vengeance for her parent's royal blood, 

On the whole race of those that murder'd him, — 

Upon their servants, children, children's children, — 

Nay, on the stones that build their castle walls. 

Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate 

Whole generations on her father's tomb, 

And bathe in blood as in the dew of May 

Melch. Know you which way the murderers have fled ? 

Stauff. No sooner had they done the deed, than they 
Took flight, each following a different route, 
And parted, ne'er to see each other more. 
Duke John must still be wand ring in the mountains, 

Furst. And thus their crime has yielded them no fruits. 
Kevenge is barren. Of itself it makes 
The dreadful food it feeds on ; its delight 
Is murder — its satiety despair. 

Stauff. The assassins reap no profit by their crime ; 
But we shall pluck with unpolluted hands 
The teeming fruits of their most bloody deed. 
For we are ransomed from our heaviest fear ; 
The direst foe of liberty has fallen, 
And, 'tis reported, that the crown will pass 
From Habsburg s house into another line ; 
The Empire is determined to assert 
Its old prerogative of choice, I hear. 

Fursi and several others. 

Has any one been named to you ? 

Stauffacher. ' The Count 

Of Luxembourg is widely named already. — 

Furst. 'Tis well we stood so staunchly by the Empire ! 
Now we may hope for justice, and with cause 

Stauff. The Emperor will need some valiant friends. 

And he will shelter us from Austria's vengeance. 
[The peasantry embrace. Enter Sacrist with im- 
perial messenger. 

Sacris. Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland I 

Rosselmann and several others. 
Sacrist, what news ? 



SC 1.] WILHELM TELL. D45 

Sacristan. A courier brings this letter. 

All (to Walter Furst). 
Open and read it. 

Furst (reading). " To the worthy men 

Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen 
Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes ! " 

Many voices. 

What wants the queen with us ? Her reign is douc 

Furst (reads). 

" In the great grief and doleful widowhood, 
In which the bloody exit of her lord 
Has plunged her majesty, she still remembers 
The ancient faith and love of Switzerland." 

Melch. She ne'er did that, in her prosperity. 

Eossel. Hush, let us hear ! 

Furst (peads). " And she is well assured, 

Her people will in due abhorrence hold 
The perpetrators of this damned deed. 
On the three Cantons, therefore, she relies, 
That they in nowise lend the murderers aid ; 
But rather, that they loyally assist, 
To give them up to the avenger's hand, 
Bemembering the love and grace which they 
Of old received from Eudolph's princely house." 
[Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peasantry 

Many voices. 

The love and grace ! 

Stauff. Grace from the father we, indeed, received, 
But what have we to boast of from the son ? 
Did he confirm the charter of our freedom, 
As all preceding emperors had done ? 
Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford 
Shelter, or stay, to innocence oppress 'd ? 
Nay, did he e'en give audience to the envoys 
We sent, to lay our grievances before him ? 
Not one of all these things e'er did the king. 
And had we not ourselves achieved our rights 
By resolute valour, our necessities 
Had never touch'd him. Gratitude to him ! 
Within these vales he sowed not gratitude 
He stood upon an eminence — he might 

N N 



546 WILHELM TELL. [ACT V 

Have been a very father to his people, 
But all his aim and pleasure was to raise 
Himself and his own house : and now may those 
Whom he has aggrandized, lament for him ! 

Fuest We will not triumph in his fall, nor now 

Recall to mind the wrongs we have endured. 
Far be't from us ! Yet, that we should avenge 
The sovereign's death, who never did us good, 
And hunt down those who ne'er molested us, 
Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love 
Must bring its offerings free, and unconstrain'd ; 
From all enforced duties death absolves — 
And unto him we are no longer bound. 

Melch. And if the queen laments within her bower, 
Accusing Heaven in sorrow's wild despair ; 
Here see a people, from its anguish freed, 
To that same Heav'n send up its thankful praise. 
For who would reap regrets, must sow affection. 

[Exit the Imperial Courier 

Stauffacher (to the people). 

But where is Tell ? Shall he, our freedom's founder, 

Alone be absent from our festival ? 

He did the most — endured the worst of all. 

Come — to his dwelling let us all repair, 

And bid the Saviour of our country hail ! 

[Exeunt omnes 

Scene II 

Interior of Tell's cottage. A fire burning on the hearth 
The open door shows the scene outside. 

Hedwig, Walter, and Wilhelm. 

Hedw. Boys, dearest boys ! your father comes to-day 
He lives, is free, and we, and all are free ! 
The country owes its liberty to him ! 

Walt. And I, too, mother, bore my part in it ; 

I shall be named with him. My father's shaft 
Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not! 

Hedwig (embracing him). 

Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again ! 



gC. II ] WILHELM TELL 547 

Twice have I given thee birth, — twice suffer'd all 

A mother's agonies for thee, my child ! 

But this is past — I have you both, boys, both ! 

And your dear father will be back to-day, 

[A monk appears at the door 
Wilh> See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar ; 

He's asking alms, no doubt. 
Hedwig. Go lead him in, 

That we may give him cheer, and make him feel 

That he has come into the house of joy. 

[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup 
Wilhelm (to the monk). 

Come in, good man. Mother will give you food ! 
Walt. Come in and rest, then go refresh 'd away ! 
Monk (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks). 

Where am I ? In what country ? 
Waltee. Have you lost 

Your way, that you are ignorant of this ? 

You are at Biirglen, in the land of Uri, 

Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal 
Monk (to Hedwig). 

Are you alone ? Your husband, is he here ? 
Hedw. I momently expect him. But what ails you ? 

You look as one whose soul is ill at ease. 

Whoe'er you be, you are in want — take that 

[Offers him the cup 
Monk. Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food, 

I will taste nothing till you've promised me — 
Hedw. Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step. 

Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you. 
Monk. Oh, by this hearth's bright hospitable blaze, 

By your dear children's heads, which I embrace — 

[Grasps the boys 
Hedw. Stand back, I say ! What is your purpose, man ? 

Back from my boys ! You are no monk, — no, no. 

Beneath that robe content arid peace should dwell, 

But neither lives within that face of thine. 
Monk. I am the veriest wretch that breathes on earth 
Hedw The heart is never deaf to wretchedness ; 

But thy look freezes up my inmost soul. 

N N S 



548 WILHELM TELL. [ACT V 

Walteb (springs up). 

Mother, my father ! 
Hedwig, Oh, my God ! 

[Is about to follow, trembles and stops 
Wilhelm (running after his brother). My father ! 

Waltek (without). Thou'rt here once more ! 
Wilhelm (without). My father, my dear father a 

Tell (without). 

Yes, here I am once more ! Where is your mother ? 

[They entet 
Walt. There at the door she stands, and can no further, 

She trembles so with terror and with joy. 
Tell Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children ! 

God has been kind and helpful in our woes. 

No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more. 
Hedwig (falling on his neck). 

Oh, Tell, what have I suffer'd for thy sake ! 

[Monk becomes attentive 
Tell. Forget it now, and live for joy alone ! 

I'm here again with you ! This is my cot ! 

I stand again on mine own hearth ! 
Wilhelm. But, father, 

Where is your crossbow left ? I see it not 
Tell. Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy. 

It is suspended in a holy place, 

And in the chase shall ne'er be used again 
Hedw. Oh, Tell! Tell! 

[Steps back, dropping his hand 
Tell. What alarms thee, dearest wife ? 

Hedw. How — how dost thou return to me ? This hand — 

Dare I take hold of it ? This hand— Oh God ! 
Tell (with firmness and animation). 

Has shielded you and set my country free ; 

Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven. 

[Monk gives a sudden start~he looks at him 

Who is this friar here ? 
Hedwig. Ah, I forgot him 

Speak thou with him ; I shudder at his presence 
Monk (stepping nearer). 

Are you that Tell that slew the governor ? 



SC. II.] W1LHELM TELL. 54G 

Tell Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man. 

Monk You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand 
That hath conducted me beneath your roof. 

Tell (examining him closely). 

You are no monk. Who are you ? 

Monk You have slain 

The governor, who did you wrong. I, too, 
Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice. 
He was no less your enemy than mine. 
I've rid the land of him. 

Tell (drawing hack). Thou art — oh, horror f 

In — children, children — in without a word 
Go, my dear wife ! Go ! Go ! Unhappy man, 
Thou shouldst be 

Hedwig, Heav'ns, who is it? 

Tell. Do not ask 

Away ! away ! the children must not hear it. 
Out of the house — away ! Thou must not rest 
'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man ! 

Hedw. Alas ! What is it ? Come ! [Exit with the children 

Tell (to the Monk). Thou art the Duke 

Of Austria — I know it. Thou hast slain 
The Emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord 

John He robb'd me of my patrimony. 

Tell. How ! 

Slain him — thy king, thy uncle ! And the earth 
Still bears thee ! And the sun still shines on thee ! 

John. Tell, hear me, ere you 

Tell. Keeking with the blood 

Of him that was thy Emperor, and kinsman, 
Durst thou set foot within my spotless house ? 
Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man, 
And claim the rites of hospitality ? 

John I hoped to find compassion at your hands. 
You also took revenge upon your foe ! 

Tell. Unhappy man ! And dar'st thou thus confound 
Ambition's bloody crime, with the dread act 
To which a father's direful need impell'd him t 
Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads? 
To guard thy fireside's sanctuary — ward off 
The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love? 



550 WILHELM TELL [ACT V. 

To Heaven I raise my unpolluted hands, 
To curse thine act and thee ! I have avenged 
That holy nature which thou hast profaned. 
1 have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer ; 
I've shielded all that was most dear to me. 
: John You cast me off to comfortless despair ! 

Tell My blood runs cold ev'n while I talk with thee. 
Away ! Pursue thine awful course ! Nor longer 
Pollute the cot where innocence abides ! 

[John turns to depart. 

John I cannot live, and will no longer thus ! 

Tell And yet my soul bleeds for thee — gracious Heaven ! 
So young, of such a noble line, the grandson 
Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor, 
An outcast — murderer — standing at my door, 
The poor man's door — a suppliant, in despair ! 

[Covers his face 

John. If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate 
Move your compassion — it is horrible. 
I am — say, rather was — a prince. I might 
Have been most happy, had I only curb'd 
Th' impatience of my passionate desires. 
But envy gnaw'd my heart — I saw the youth 
Of mine own cousin Leopold endow'd 
With honour, and enrich 'd with broad domains, 
The while myself, that was in years his equal, 
Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage. 

Tell. Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well, 

When he withheld both land and subjects from thee 

Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set 

A fearful seal upon his sage resolve. 

Where are the bloody partners of thy crime? 

John. Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them ; 
I have not seen them since the luckless deed. 

Tell Know'st thou the Empire's ban is out, — that th;>u 
Art interdicted to thy friends, and given 
An outlaw 'd victim to thine enemies ! 

J ohn Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares, 
And venture not to knock at any door — 
I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through 
The mountains roam, a terror to myself. 



SC 12.] WTLHEIM TELL 551 

From mine own self I shrink with horror back, 
Should a chance "brook reflect my ill-starr'd form 

If thou hast pity for a fellow mortal 

[Falls down before him. 

Tell Stand up, stand up ! 

John. Not till thou shalt extend 

Thy hand in promise of assistance to me. 

Tet l Can I assist thee ? Can a sinful man ? 

Yet get thee up — how black soe'er thy crime, — 
Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell 
Shall no one part uncomforted. I will 
Do all that lies within my power. 

Duke John (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand). 

Oh, Tell, 
You save me from the terrors of despair. 

Tell. Let go my hand ! Thou must away. Thou canst not 
Remain here undiscover'd, and discover 'd, 
Thou canst not count on succour. Which way, then, 
Wilt bend thy steps ? Where dost thou hope to find 
A place of rest ? 

Duke John. Alas ! alas ! I know not. 

Tell. Hear, then, what Heaven suggesteth to my heart, 
Thou must to Italy, — to Saint Peter's City — 
There cast thyself at the Pope's feet, — confess 
Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul ! 

John But will he not surrender me to vengeance ? 

Tell. Whate'er he does, receive as God's decree. 

John But how am I to reach that unknown land ? 

I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not 
Attach myself to other travellers. 

Tell. I will describe the road, and mark me well ! 
You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss, 
Which from the mountains dashes wildly down. 

Duke John (in alarm). 

What ! See the Reuss ? The witness of my deed ! 

Tell. The road you take lies through the river's gorge, 
And many a cross proclaims where travellers 
Have perish 'd 'neath the avalanche's fall. 

John. I have no fear for nature's terrors, so 
I can appease the torments of my soul. 

Tell At every cross, kneel down and expiate 



552 WILHELM TELL ^ACT V. 

Your crime with burning penitential tears — 
And if you 'scape the perils of the pass, 
And are not whelm'd beneath the drifted snows, 
That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down, 
You'll reach the bridge, that hangs in drizzling spray 
Then if it yield not 'neath your beavy guilt, 
When you have left it safely in your rear, 
Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks, 
Where never sun did shine Proceed through this 
And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale. 
Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps, 
For in the haunts of peace you must not linger 

John Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire ! thus 

Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms ! 

Tell. Ascending still, you gain the Gotthardt's heights 
On which the everlasting lakes repose, 
That from the streams of Heaven itself are fed, 
There to the German soil you bid farewell ; 
And thence, with rapid course, another stream 
Leads you to Italy, your promised land. 

[Ra7iz des V aches sounded on Alp-horns is heard 
without 
But I hear voices ! Hence ! 

Hedwig (hurrying in) Where art thou, TeL ? 

Our father comes, and in exulting bands 
All the confederates approach. 

Duke John (covering himself). Woe's me ! 

I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness ! 

Tell Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat. 

Spare not your bounty. For his road is long, 
And one where shelter will be hard to find 
Quick ! they approach. 

Hedwig. Who is he ? 

Tell. Do not ask! 

And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away, 
That they may not behold the road he takes. 

[Duke John advances hastily towards Tell, but 
he beckons him aside and exit. When both 
have left the stage, the scene changes, and dis 
closes in 



SC III.] WILHELM TELL. 55S 

Scene III. 

The whole valley before Tell's house, the heights which enclose 
it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are 
seen crossing a lofty bridge, which crosses the Shechen. 
Walter Furst with the two boys. Werner and Statjf 
facher come forward. Others throng after them. When 
Tell appears, all receive him with loud cheers. 

All. Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator. 

[While those in front are crowding round Tell, 
and embracing him, Rudenz and Bertha ap- 
pear. The former salutes the peasantry, tlie 
latter embraces Hedwig. The music from the 
mountains continues to play. When it has 
stopped, Bertha steps into the centre of tlie 
crowd. 
Berth Peasants ! Confederates ! Into your league 
Receive me here, that happily am the first 
To find protection in the land of freedom. 
To your brave hands I now entrust my rights. 
Will you protect me as your citizen ? 
Peas. Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both ! 
Berth. 'Tis well ! And to this youth I give my hand. 

A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man ! 
Rud. . . And from this moment all my serfs are free ! 

[Music and the curtain falls 



the end. 



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